When the rupture came between Amy and her husband, Harold could
not believe that she was in any way to blame; held to Reardon by
strong friendship, he yet accused him of injustice to Amy. And
what he saw of her at Brighton confirmed him in this judgment.
When he accompanied her to Manville Street, he allowed her, of
course, to remain alone in the room where Reardon had lived; but
Amy presently summoned him, and asked him questions. Every tear
she shed watered a growth of passionate tenderness in the
solitary man's heart. Parting from her at length, he went to hide
his face in darkness and think of her--think of her.
A fatal day. There was an end of all his peace, all his capacity
for labour, his patient endurance of penury. Once, when he was
about three-and-twenty, he had been in love with a girl of gentle
nature and fair intelligence; on account of his poverty, he could
not even hope that his love might be returned, and he went away
to bear the misery as best he might. Since then the life he had
led precluded the forming of such attachments; it would never
have been possible for him to support a wife of however humble
origin.
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