“We are, or rather we were, so much alike then that the portrait of either of us would have done for the other. It’s wrong in the eyes of most people. ” John took his hand away. Her stifled misery had betrayed her. . He would go there. Her husband sat in a chair beside her bed, his head in his hands. I’ve never wanted to get away so much. Nor must it be imagined, that while he thus exercised his teeth, he neglected the flagon. His curiosity, his literary instincts, had been submerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made of himself. . You'll find me at supper.
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