United States or Niger ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
"Mind this!" he went on, shaking his hands at me in the vehemence of his agitation. "I hold no thread, in my own mind, between that man Fosco, and the past time which I call back to me for your sake. If you find the thread, keep it to yourself tell me nothing on my knees I beg and pray, let me be ignorant, let me be innocent, let me be blind to all the future as I am now!"
"Because I have particular reasons for wishing to know something of him. He is a countryman of yours his name is Count Fosco. Do you know that name?" "Not I, Walter. Neither the name nor the man is known to me." "Are you quite sure you don't recognise him? Look again look carefully. I will tell you why I am so anxious about it when we leave the theatre.
Madame Fosco took a book from the table, sat down, and looked at me, with the steady vindictive malice of a woman who never forgot and never forgave. "I have been listening to your conversation with my husband," she said. "If I had been in HIS place I would have laid you dead on the hearthrug."
Fairlie," I said. "Your uncle is your nearest male relative, and the head of the family. He must and shall interfere." Laura shook her head sorrowfully. "Yes, yes," I went on, "your uncle is a weak, selfish, worldly man, I know, but he is not Sir Percival Glyde, and he has no such friend about him as Count Fosco.
"Whatever comes of this confidence between us," I said, "whether it ends happily or sorrowfully for ME, Laura's interests will still be the interests of my life. When we leave this place, on whatever terms we leave it, my determination to wrest from Count Fosco the confession which I failed to obtain from his accomplice, goes back with me to London, as certainly as I go back myself.
The old pain over the heart and the other symptoms of the illness at Grimsby returned, and Anne was confined to her bed in the cottage. In this emergency the first necessity, as Mrs. On reaching the outskirts of the plantation Mrs. Clements encountered, not Lady Glyde, but a tall, stout, elderly gentleman, with a book in his hand in other words, Count Fosco.
I know that it is a sin and wickedness to say the thing which is not, and I will truly beware of doing so on this occasion. All that I know I will tell, and I humbly beg the gentleman who takes this down to put my language right as he goes on, and to make allowances for my being no scholar. John's Wood. I took the place on trial. My master's name was Fosco. My mistress was an English lady.
On the day of the funeral, and for one day after it, Count Fosco had been received as a guest at Limmeridge House, but no interview had taken place between Mr. Fairlie and himself, by the former gentleman's desire. They had communicated by writing, and through this medium Count Fosco had made Mr. Fairlie acquainted with the details of his niece's last illness and death.
"My angel," he went on, addressing his wife, "will your labours of packing up allow you time to make me some nice strong coffee? I have writing business to transact with Mr. Hartright and I require the full possession of my intelligence to do justice to myself." Madame Fosco bowed her head twice once sternly to me, once submissively to her husband, and glided out of the room.
Madame Fosco was alone in the hall looking at the weather-glass. "Still falling," she said. "I am afraid we must expect more rain." Her face was composed again to its customary expression and its customary colour. But the hand with which she pointed to the dial of the weather-glass still trembled.
Word Of The Day