Keeting. Of course
it will be favourable, and the good news--'
'Too late, I have killed her! That woman won't write. She's one of the
vulgar rich, and we offended her pride; and such as she never forgive.'
He sat down for a moment, but started up again in an agony of mental
suffering.
'She is dying--and there, there, that's what has killed her!' He
gesticulated wildly towards the books. 'I have sold her life for those.
Oh!--oh!'
With this cry he seized half a dozen volumes, and, before I could
understand what he was about, he had flung up the window-sash, and cast the
books into the street. Another batch followed; I heard the thud upon the
pavement. Then I caught him by the arm, held him fast, begged him to
control himself.
'They shall all go!' he cried. 'I loathe the sight of them. They have
killed my dear wife!'
He said it sobbing, and at the last words tears streamed from his eyes. I
had no difficulty now in restraining him. He met my look with a gaze of
infinite pathos, and talked on while he wept.
'If you knew what she has been to me! When she married me I was a ruined
man twenty years older. I have given her nothing but toil and care. You
shall know everything--for years and years I have lived on the earnings of
her labour.
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