It rankled in my mind that I had been called a publishing scoundrel,
for certainly I did publish and certainly I had not been very delicate.
There was a moment when I stood convinced that the only way to make up
for this latter fault was to take myself away altogether on the instant;
to sacrifice my hopes and relieve the two poor women forever of the oppression
of my intercourse. Then I reflected that I had better try a short
absence first, for I must already have had a sense (unexpressed and dim)
that in disappearing completely it would not be merely my own hopes that I
should condemn to extinction. It would perhaps be sufficient if I stayed
away long enough to give the elder lady time to think she was rid of me.
That she would wish to be rid of me after this (if I was not rid of her)
was now not to be doubted: that nocturnal scene would have cured her
of the disposition to put up with my company for the sake of my dollars.
I said to myself that after all I could not abandon Miss Tita, and I continued
to say this even while I observed that she quite failed to comply with my
earnest request (I had given her two or three addresses, at little towns,
post restante) that she would let me know how she was getting on.
I would have made my servant write to me but that he was unable to manage
a pen. It struck me there was a kind of scorn in Miss Tita's silence
(little disdainful as she had ever been), so that I was uncomfortable
and sore.
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