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作者: Charles Dickens

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"My memory is still accurate, but I cannot write the words of our
conversation. I suspect that I am watched more closely than I
was, and I know not at what times I may be watched. She had in
part suspected, and in part discovered, the main facts of the
cruel story, of her husband's share in it, and my being resorted
to. She did not know that the girl was dead. Her hope had been,
she said in great distress, to show her, in secret, a woman's
sympathy. Her hope had been to avert the wrath of Heaven from a
House that had long been hateful to the suffering many.
"She had reasons for believing that there was a young sister
living, and her greatest desire was, to help that sister. I could
tell her nothing but that there was such a sister; beyond that, I
knew nothing. Her inducement to come to me, relying on my
confidence, had been the hope that I could tell her the name and
place of abode. Whereas, to this wretched hour I am ignorant of
both.
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