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or “Marmion” it was); St。 John stooped to examine my drawing。 His tall figure sprang erect again with a start: he said nothing。 I looked up at him: he shunned my eye。 I knew his thoughts well; and could read his heart plainly; at the moment I felt calmer and cooler than he: I had then temporarily the advantage of him; and I conceived an inclination to do him some good; if I could。
“With all his firmness and self…control;” thought I; “he tasks himself too far: locks every feeling and pang within—expresses; confesses; imparts nothing。 I am sure it would benefit him to talk a little about this sweet Rosamond; whom he thinks he ought not to marry: I will make him talk。”
I said first; “Take a chair; Mr。 Rivers。” But he answered; as he always did; that he could not stay。 “Very well;” I responded; mentally; “stand if you like; but you shall not go just yet; I am determined: solitude is at least as bad for you as it is for me。 I’ll try if I cannot discover the secret spring of your confidence; and find an aperture in that marble breast through which I can shed one drop of the balm of sympathy。”
“Is this portrait like?” I asked bluntly。
“Like! Like whom? I did not observe it closely。”
“You did; Mr。 Rivers。”
He almost started at my sudden and strange abruptness: he looked at me astonished。 “Oh; that is nothing yet;” I muttered within。 “I don’t mean to be baffled by a little stiffness on your part; I’m prepared to go to considerable lengths。” I
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