She was of a yielding nature and capable of doing almost anything
to please a person who was kind to her; but the greatest
kindness of all would be not to presume too much on this.
It was strange enough, as I afterward thought, that she
had not the least air of resenting my want of consideration
for her aunt's character, which would have been in the worst
possible taste if anything less vital (from my point of view)
had been at stake. I don't think she really measured it.
"Do you mean that she did something bad?" she asked in a moment.
"Heaven forbid I should say so, and it's none of my business.
Besides, if she did," I added, laughing, "it was in other ages,
in another world. But why should she not destroy her papers?"
"Oh, she loves them too much."
"Even now, when she may be near her end?"
"Perhaps when she's sure of that she will."
"Well, Miss Tita," I said, "it's just what I should like you to prevent."
"How can I prevent it?"
"Couldn't you get them away from her?"
"And give them to you?"
This put the case very crudely, though I am sure there was no irony
in her intention. "Oh, I mean that you might let me see them and look
them over. It isn't for myself; there is no personal avidity in my desire.
It is simply that they would be of such immense interest to the public,
such immeasurable importance as a contribution to Jeffrey Aspern's history."
She listened to me in her usual manner, as if my speech were full of
reference to things she had never heard of, and I felt particularly like
the reporter of a newspaper who forces his way into a house of mourning.
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