My letter to
Midwinter will drive me mad if I see it staring and staring at me
in my desk any longer. I can post it in ten minutes' time--and I
will!
"It is done. The first of the three steps that lead me to the end
is a step taken. My mind is quieter--the letter is in the post.
"By to-morrow Midwinter will receive it. Before the end of the
week Armadale must be publicly seen to leave Thorpe Ambrose; and
I must be publicly seen to leave with him.
"Have I looked at the consequences of my marriage to Midwinter?
No! Do I know how to meet the obstacle of my husband, when the
time comes which transforms me from the living Armadale's wife
to the dead Armadale's widow?
"No! When the time comes, I must meet the obstacle as I best may.
I am going blindfold, then--so far as Midwinter is concerned--
into this frightful risk? Yes; blindfold. Am I out of my senses?
Very likely. Or am I a little too fond of him to look the thing
in the face? I dare say. Who cares?
"I won't, I won't, I won't think of it! Haven't I a will of my
own? And can't I think, if I like, of something else?
"Here is Mother Jezebel's cringing letter. _That_ is something
else to think of.
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