There's a reason
that nobody can answer--myself included.
* * * * * * *
"It was half-past eleven. Armadale had gone. I had put on
my dressing-gown, and had just sat down to arrange my hair
for the night, when I was surprised by a knock at the door,
and Midwinter came in.
"He was frightfully pale. His eyes looked at me with a terrible
despair in them. He never answered when I expressed my surprise
at his coming in so much sooner than usual; he wouldn't even
tell me, when I asked the question, if he was ill. Pointing
peremptorily to the chair from which I had risen on his entering
the room, he told me to sit down again; and then, after a moment,
added these words: 'I have something serious to say to you.'
"I thought of what I had done--or, no, of what I had tried to
do--in that interval between half-past ten and half-past eleven,
which I have left unnoticed in my diary--and the deadly sickness
of terror, which I never felt at the time, came upon me now.
I sat down again, as I had been told, without speaking to
Midwinter, and without looking at him.
"He took a turn up and down the room, and then came and stood
over me.
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