Мидлмарч

Chapter 42

           Casaubondidnotsay,"Iwishtobealone,"buthedirectedhisstepsinsilencetowardsthehouse,andastheyenteredbytheglassdooronthiseasternside,Dorotheawithdrewherarmandlingeredonthematting,thatshemightleaveherhusbandquitefree.Heenteredthelibraryandshuthimselfin,alonewithhissorrow.

           Shewentuptoherboudoir.Theopenbow-windowletintheserenegloryoftheafternoonlyingintheavenue,wherethelime-treeseastlongshadows.ButDorotheaknewnothingofthescene.Shethrewherselfonachair,notheedingthatshewasinthedazzlingsun-rays:iftherewerediscomfortinthat,howcouldshetellthatitwasnotpartofherinwardmisery?

           Shewasinthereactionofarebelliousangerstrongerthananyshehadfeltsincehermarriage.Insteadoftearstherecamewords:—

           "WhathaveIdonewhatamI—thatheshouldtreatmeso?Heneverknowswhatisinmymindhenevercares.WhatistheuseofanythingIdo?Hewisheshehadnevermarriedme."

           Shebegantohearherself,andwascheckedintostillness.Likeonewhohaslosthiswayandisweary,shesatandsawasinoneglanceallthepathsofheryounghopewhichsheshouldneverfindagain.Andjustasclearlyinthemiserablelightshesawherownandherhusband’ssolitudehowtheywalkedapartsothatshewasobligedtosurveyhim.

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