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I turned it over-I tried to be more judicial. “Well-perhaps.” She looked as if she found
me unexpectedly calm. “He stole letters!” She couldn’t know my reasons for a calmness
after all pretty shallow; so I showed them off as I might. “I hope then it was to more
purpose than in this case! The note, at any rate, that I put on the table yesterday,” I
pursued, “will have given him so scant an advantage-for it contained only the bare
demand for an interview-that he is already much ashamed of having gone so far for so
little, and that what he had on his mind last evening was precisely the need of
confession.” I seemed to myself, for the instant, to have mastered it, to see it all. “Leave
us, leave us”- I was already, at the door, hurrying her off. “I’ll get it out of him.
He’ll meet me-he’ll confess. If he confesses, he’s saved. And if he’s saved-” “Then you
are?” The dear woman kissed me on this, and I took her farewell.
“I’ll save you without him!” she cried as she went.