It struck in the bed-room: Three.
No more than three of the clock, it was the voice telling of half the precious restorative night-hours wasted.
Now, as we close our eyelids when we would go to sleep, so must we, in expectation of the peace of mind granting us the sweet oblivion, preliminarily do something which invokes, that we may obtain it.
‘Dear,’ Dorothea said.
‘I know indeed,’ said Virginia.
‘We may have been!’
‘Not designingly.’
‘Indeed not. But harsh it may be named, if the one innocent is to be the sufferer.’
‘The child can in no sense be adjudged guilty.’
‘It is Victor’s child.’