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“No; indeed! I remember now seeing the letter E。 prised in your initials written in books you have at different times lent me; but I never asked for what name it stood。 But what then? Surely—”
I stopped: I could not trust myself to entertain; much less to express; the thought that rushed upon me—that embodied itself;— that; in a second; stood out a strong; solid probability。 Circumstances knit themselves; fitted themselves; shot into order: the chain that had been lying hitherto a formless lump of links was drawn out straight;—every ring was perfect; the connection plete。 I knew; by instinct; how the matter stood; before St。 John had said another word; but I cannot expect the reader to have the same intuitive perception; so I must repeat his explanation。
“My mother’s name was Eyre; she had two brothers; one a clergyman; who married Miss Jane Reed; of Gateshead; the other; John Eyre; Esq。; merchant; late of Funchal; Madeira。 Mr。 Briggs; being Mr。 Eyre’s solicitor; wrote to us last August to inform us of our uncle’s death; and to say that he had left his property to his brother the clergyman’s orphan daughter; overlooking us; in consequence of a quarrel; never forgiven; between him and my father。 He wrote again a few weeks since; to intimate that the heiress was lost; and asking if we knew anything of her。 A name casually written on a slip of paper has enabled me to find her out。 You know the rest。” Again he was going; but I set my back against the door。
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