Page 1129 - bleak-house

I have been racked by him, you do not know how long, but
would mercifully strike next morning.
I found his house dark and silent. I rang twice at his door,
but there was no reply, and I came home.
I have no home left. I will encumber you no more. May
you, in your just resentment, be able to forget the unworthy
woman on whom you have wasted a most generous devo-
tion—who avoids you only with a deeper shame than that
with which she hurries from herself—and who writes this
last adieu.
She veils and dresses quickly, leaves all her jewels and her
money, listens, goes downstairs at a moment when the hall
is empty, opens and shuts the great door, flutters away in the
shrill frosty wind.

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