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Chapter XLIV

           ’Iamruinedforeverintheiropinion—’saidItomyself—’Iamshutoutforeverfromtheirsociety,theyalreadythinkmeanunprincipledfellow,thisletterwillonlymakethemthinkmeablackguardone.’Suchweremyreasonings,as,inasortofdesperatecarelessness,Icopiedmywife’swords,andpartedwiththelastrelicsofMarianne.Herthreenotes—unluckilytheywereallinmypocketbook,orIshouldhavedeniedtheirexistence,andhoardedthemforever—Iwasforcedtoputthemup,andcouldnotevenkissthem.Andthelockofhair—thattooIhadalwayscarriedaboutmeinthesamepocket-book,whichwasnowsearchedbyMadamwiththemostingratiatingvirulence,—thedearlock—all,everymementowastornfromme."

           "Youareverywrong,Mr.Willoughby,veryblamable,"saidElinor,whilehervoice,inspiteofherself,betrayedhercompassionateemotion;"yououghtnottospeakinthisway,eitherofMrs.Willoughbyormysister.Youhadmadeyourownchoice.Itwasnotforcedonyou.Yourwifehasaclaimtoyourpoliteness,toyourrespect,atleast.Shemustbeattachedtoyou,orshewouldnothavemarriedyou.Totreatherwithunkindness,tospeakofherslightinglyisnoatonementtoMarianne—norcanIsupposeitarelieftoyourownconscience."

           "Donottalktomeofmywife,"saidhewithaheavysigh.—"Shedoesnotdeserveyourcompassion.—SheknewIhadnoregardforherwhenwemarried.—Well,marriedwewere,andcamedowntoCombeMagnatobehappy,andafterwardsreturnedtotowntobegay.

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