She was dead.
Dead.
Her mother, who had suffered so much, whom she had promised both in
thought and word to restore, if not avenge..... Gone forever. Small
voices, peeping like crickets in the dark silent halls of Damnation,
told her she had done everything she could, and must now surrender her
to memory.
"Would have told Anne this evening. . .before she set out for the
Talberts. . .from there to send a doctor." All useless now, swept
away, as the Lord Purceville had swept away her mother's love, and
then her life.
And now, just as surely, she herself was being drawn into the heart of
that great spider's web, to be sucked dry and then discarded. She
remembered her mother's words: the man you most want to love, but in
the end must despise more than any.
Her spirit palled as the door of the plush carriage, like the padded
lid of a casket, sealed them in. Fear and cold and grief at last
overcame her, as she sloughed in near unconsciousness against the
known and unknown woman beside her.
But a moment before all was consumed in the black sleep of despair, a
tiny figure stood at the heart of the abyss and whispered a single,
heart-breaking word.
Pages:
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189