No doubt
her life is darkened by the cloud that darkens yours. But bending
her pride into a grand composure that is not haughty or aggressive,
but is a sustained confidence in you and in the truth, she has won
her way through those streets until she passes along them as high
in the general respect as any one who treads them. Every day and
hour of her life since Edwin Drood's disappearance, she has faced
malignity and folly - for you - as only a brave nature well
directed can. So it will be with her to the end. Another and
weaker kind of pride might sink broken-hearted, but never such a
pride as hers: which knows no shrinking, and can get no mastery
over her.'
The pale cheek beside him flushed under the comparison, and the
hint implied in it.
'I will do all I can to imitate her,' said Neville.
'Do so, and be a truly brave man, as she is a truly brave woman,'
answered Mr. Crisparkle stoutly. 'It is growing dark. Will you go
my way with me, when it is quite dark? Mind! it is not I who wait
for darkness.'
Neville replied, that he would accompany him directly. But Mr.
Crisparkle said he had a moment's call to make on Mr. Grewgious as
an act of courtesy, and would run across to that gentleman's
chambers, and rejoin Neville on his own doorstep, if he would come
down there to meet him.
Mr. Grewgious, bolt upright as usual, sat taking his wine in the
dusk at his open window; his wineglass and decanter on the round
table at his elbow; himself and his legs on the window-seat; only
one hinge in his whole body, like a bootjack.
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