“A mother? A sister? A wife? Utterly innocent, and yet irrevocably involved? Now she had her answer. Hour after hour of it, punctuated by distant clocks chiming the hours and the half-hours all through the night. So dreadful were the revelations that there were moments when she felt that she ought not to be listening, that there was something wicked about even hearing such things; as if she was eavesdropping at the keyhole of Hell. Eavesdropping, anyway. She was hearing these revelations... on false pretences, for had it not been for Mary’s instantaneous assumption, at the sight of the ransacked box, that all had been discovered, then Alice would never have heard the story at all. Or would she? During that long night of despairing tears and agonised reminiscence, Alice more and more got the impression that the girl had, by now, worked herself up to such a pitch of terror and anguish that confession to someone, somehow, had become a necessity.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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