Rest Harrow

He told young Glyde that he had reached this transcendental eyrie of his by painful degrees. No person of Sanchia’s acquaintance had suffered more than he by her desperate affair. He had been her first lover, and her only confidant, for she had been what one calls a difficult girl, who gave out nothing and had no friends. Her sisters knew very little about her, her mother nothing. It had been Senhouse who had called up the spirit that was in her–that extraordinary candour of vision which shrank from the judgment of nothing in heaven or earth upon the merits.