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Chapter 37

           thesofteyesthetendermouthdidnotthesesuggestthesweetestlove,thepurestpassionthateverfoundplaceinawoman’sheart?IlostmyselfindreamymusingIthoughtofmanythingsthathadlittletodowitheithermyownpastorpresent.IrealizedthatnowandthenatrareintervalsGodmakesawomanofgeniuswithathinker’sbrainandanangel’ssoulandthatsuchanoneisboundtobeadestinytoallmortalslessdivinelyendowed,andaglorytotheworldinwhichshedwells.Soconsidering,IstudiedMavisClare’sfaceandformIsawhereyesfillwithtearsasshereadon;whyshouldsheweep,Iwondered,overthat‘lastdocument’whichhadleftmeunmovedandcallous?Iwasstartledalmostasiffromsleepwhenhervoice,thrillingwithpain,disturbedthestillnessshesprangup,gazingatmeasifshesawsomehorriblevision.

           "Oh,areyousoblind,"shecried,"asnottoseewhatthismeans?Canyounotunderstand?Doyounotknowyourworstenemy?"

           "Myworstenemy?"Iechoedamazed—"Yousurpriseme,MaviswhathaveI,ormyenemiesorfriendstodowithmywife’slastconfession?Sheravedbetweenpoisonandpassion,shecouldnottell,asyouseebyherfinalwords,whethershewasdeadoraliveandherwritingatallundersuchstressofcircumstanceswasaphenomenaleffortbutithasnothingtodowithmepersonally.

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