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Updated: June 22, 2025
He says his opinion of Armadale's conduct has been formed, not on common report, but on Armadale's own letters, and he sees no reason to alter the conclusion at which he arrived when the correspondence between them was closed. "This little matter had, I confess, slipped out of my memory. It might have ended awkwardly for me.
The end of it is all I can write in these pages; and the end of it is that he has shaken my resolution. For the first time since I saw the easy way to Armadale's life at Thorpe Ambrose, I feel as if the man whom I have doomed in my own thoughts had a chance of escaping me. "Is it my love for Midwinter that has altered me?
Every difficulty, at starting, is smoothed over ready to my hand. Every after-difficulty I could manage for myself. In the whole venture desperate as it looks to pass myself off for the widow of one man, while I am all the while the wife of the other there is absolutely no necessity that wants twice considering, but the one terrible necessity of Armadale's death. "His death!
Armadale is still in Somersetshire, and whether he would consent to take back in small installments the sum of money which my friend acknowledges that she received by practicing on Mrs. Armadale's fears. Those were my very words. But this Somersetshire parson is harder than stone itself.
We can luckily give the major time, without doing any injury to our own interests; for there is no fear just yet of the girl's getting the start of you. The public reception, as we know, won't be ready till near the end of the month; and we may safely trust young Armadale's vanity to keep him out of his new house until his flatterers are all assembled to welcome him.
"I remember something of the sort," he replied; "and I also remember thinking it rather remarkable that you should happen we won't put it in any more offensive way to be exactly under Mr. Armadale's open window while I was talking to him. It might have been accident, of course; but it looked rather more like curiosity.
You set a watch on the woman whom you yourself told me you loved, only a fortnight since the woman you were thinking of as your wife! I don't believe it; I won't believe it. Is my head failing me? Is it Allan Armadale I am speaking to? Is it Allan Armadale's face looking at me? Stop! you are acting under some mistaken scruple.
Armadale's motives for burying her son as well as herself in the seclusion of a remote country village was not so much to keep him under her own eye as to keep him from discovery by his namesake. Why did she dread the idea of their ever meeting? Was it a dread for herself, or a dread for her son? Mr.
Armadale, that no proceedings of any sort shall be taken against either this lady or myself, and I will let you out of the hollow of my hand. Refuse and, be the risk what it may, I will keep you in." Can you doubt, my dear madam, what Mr. Armadale's answer is, sooner or later, certain to be?
Armadale knows, and whom you and I can trust, to wait the arrival of the trains, and to meet our man at the moment when he steps out of the railway carriage. "'Have you thought, I inquired, 'of who the person is to be? "'I have thought, said the doctor, taking up Armadale's letter 'of the person to whom this letter is addressed. "The answer startled me.
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