The writing was
hurried, and in places almost illegible: it had entirely lost the firm,
even character which usually distinguished it, from which a very
moderate graphiologist might have drawn successful auguries. Perhaps
this was the reason that Royston read it through twice slowly. As he did
so his countenance altered fearfully; the deadly white look of dangerous
passion overspread it all, and his eyes began to gleam. Yet still he
spoke calmly--"You knew of this being written?"
"I am happy to say I was more than passively conscious of it," Mark
replied. "I did all in my power to bring about the result that you are
now made aware of, and I thank God that I did not fail."
While the other was speaking Royston was tearing up the paper he held
into the smallest shreds, and dropping them one by one. The act might
have been involuntary, but seemed to have a savage viciousness about it,
as if a living thing were being tortured by those cruel fingers. (The
poor letter! whatever its faults might have been, it surely deserved a
better fate: it was doubtless not a model of composition, but some of
the epistles which have moved us most in our time, either for joy or
sorrow, might not in this respect emulate Montague or Chapone.
Pages:
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312