Things began
to look about as bad as they could. But now that you've got a
volume finished, there's hope once more.'
Hope? Of what quality? Reardon durst not say what rose in his
thoughts. 'A very small, poor hope. Hope of money enough to
struggle through another half year, if indeed enough for that.'
He had learnt that Amy was not to be told the whole truth about
anything as he himself saw it. It was a pity. To the ideal wife a
man speaks out all that is in him; she had infinitely rather
share his full conviction than be treated as one from whom facts
must be disguised. She says: 'Let us face the worst and talk of
it together, you and I.' No, Amy was not the ideal wife from that
point of view. But the moment after this half-reproach had
traversed his consciousness he condemned himself; and looked with
the joy of love into her clear eyes.
'Yes, there's hope once more, my dearest. No more gloomy talk to-
night! I have read you something, now you shall read something to
me; it is a long time since I delighted myself with listening to
you. What shall it be?'
'I feel rather too tired to-night.
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