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Wharton, Edith, 1862-1937

"Summer"

But there was none left; she
must go downstairs to get it. She had a superstitious feeling that the
letter must be written on the instant, that setting down her secret in
words would bring her reassurance and safety; and taking up her candle
she went down to Mr. Royall's office.
At that hour she was not likely to find him there: he had probably had
his supper and walked over to Carrick Fry's. She pushed open the door of
the unlit room, and the light of her lifted candle fell on his figure,
seated in the darkness in his high-backed chair. His arms lay along
the arms of the chair, and his head was bent a little; but he lifted
it quickly as Charity entered. She started back as their eyes met,
remembering that her own were red with weeping, and that her face was
livid with the fatigue and emotion of her journey. But it was too late
to escape, and she stood and looked at him in silence.
He had risen from his chair, and came toward her with outstretched
hands. The gesture was so unexpected that she let him take her hands in
his and they stood thus, without speaking, till Mr.


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