She would never blame him, and
certainly she would never praise him. As far as she could rule her tongue,
she would never have his name upon her lips again.
She thought for a time that she would send the letter which she had
already written. Any other letter she could not bring herself to write.
Even to think of him was an agony to her; but to communicate her thoughts
to him was worse than agony. It would be almost madness. What need was
there for any letter? If the thing was done it was done. Perhaps there
remained with her, staying by her without her own knowledge, some faint
spark of hope, that even yet he might return to her. At last she resolved
that there should be no letter, and she destroyed that which she had
written.
But she did write a note to Lady Fawn, in which she gratefully accepted
her old friend's kindness till such time as she could "find a place." "As
to that other subject," she said, "I know that you are right. Please let
it all be as though it had never been."
CHAPTER LXI
LIZZIE'S GREAT FRIEND
The Saturday morning came at last for which Lord Fawn had made his
appointment with Lizzie, and a very important day it was in Hertford
Street, chiefly on account of his lordship's visit, but also in respect to
other events which crowded themselves into the day.
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