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at his tobacco, “you wouldn’t ha’ had the chance.”

source:muvtime:2023-12-01 05:44:30

"Oh!" Emily cried, "is there some good in this woman, after all?"

at his tobacco, “you wouldn’t ha’ had the chance.”

"There's no good in the woman!" Mrs. Rook answered desperately. "There's nothing but fear--fear of hell now; fear of the pocketbook in the past time. Twice I tried to destroy it--and twice it came back, to remind me of the duty that I owed to my miserable soul. I tried to throw it into the fire. It struck the bar, and fell back into the fender at my feet. I went out, and cast it into the well. It came back again in the first bucket of water that was drawn up. From that moment, I began to save what I could. Restitution! Atonement! I tell you the book found a tongue--and those were the grand words it dinned in my ears, morning and night." She stooped to fetch her breath--stopped, and struck her bosom. "I hid it here, so that no person should see it, and no person take it from me. Superstition? Oh, yes, superstition! Shall tell you something? _You_ may find yourself superstitious, if you are ever cut to the heart as I was. He left me! The man I had disgraced myself for, deserted me on the day when I gave him the stolen money. He suspected it was stolen; he took care of his own cowardly self--and left me to the hard mercy of the law, if the theft was found out. What do you call that, in the way of punishment? Haven't I suffered? Haven't I made atonement? Be a Christian--say you forgive me."

at his tobacco, “you wouldn’t ha’ had the chance.”

"Ah! that comforts me! Now you can go."

at his tobacco, “you wouldn’t ha’ had the chance.”

Emily looked at her imploringly. "Don't send me away, knowing no more of the murder than I knew when I came here! Is there nothing, really nothing, you can tell me?"

"Haven't I told you already? Go downstairs, and see the wretch who escaped in the dawn of the morning!"

"Gently, ma'am, gently! You're talking too loud," cried a mocking voice from outside.

"It's only the doctor," said Mrs. Rook. She crossed her hands over her bosom with a deep-drawn sigh. "I want no doctor, now. My peace is made with my Maker. I'm ready for death; I'm fit for Heaven. Go away! go away!"

In a moment more, the doctor came in--a brisk, smiling, self-sufficient man--smartly dressed, with a flower in his button-hole. A stifling odor of musk filled the room, as he drew out his handkerchief with a flourish, and wiped his forehead.