Super Trick or Treat System

In my doubts and perplexities, I vaguely suspected something hidden by myself, and these hidden things were discovered by my own effort. I checked Miss Halcomb’s look and manners. Living in an intimate relationship like ours, none of us will undergo serious changes and will not sympathize with others. The change of the young lady is reflected in her half-sister. Although Miss Halcomb could not escape a word, suggesting a change in her feelings for herself, her keen eyes developed a new habit of always looking at me. Sometimes the appearance is like suppressed anger, sometimes like suppressed fear, sometimes it looks like nothing-in short, there is nothing, I can understand. One week later, the three of us are still in a secret position to dock with each other. My situation was exacerbated by my own misery, weakness and forgetfulness, and now it was too late for me to wake up and it had become unbearable. I feel that I must always get rid of the oppression on which I live, but how to do the best, or what to say in the first place, is beyond my ability.

The young lady rescued me from this helpless and humiliating position. Her lips told me the painful, necessary, unexpected truth; her sincerity shocked me. Her consciousness and courage turned to the correct use of an event that threatened the worst that could happen to me and others at Limerick House.

It was a Thursday of the week, almost at the end of the third month of my stay in Cumberland.

In the morning, when I walked into the breakfast room in my usual time, Miss Halcomb was not at her usual table for the first time since I knew her.

Miss Fairley was on the lawn. She bowed to me, but did not come in. There is no word on my lips or hers that makes any of us uneasy-but the same unrecognized sense of embarrassment also makes us reluctant to meet alone. She waited on the lawn, and I waited in the breakfast room until Mrs. Vesey or Miss Halcomb came in. How quickly should I join her: how easily we should shake hands and slip into our habitual conversation, two weeks ago.

A few minutes later, Miss Holcomb entered. She looked obsessed and she was very false about being late and apologized for it.

She said: "I have consulted with Mr. Fairley on domestic affairs and have been detained. He wants to talk to me."

Miss Fairley comes in from the garden, and we usually have a morning greeting between us. Her hands are colder than mine. She didn't look at me, she was pale. Soon after, even the wife, she also noticed this.

The old lady said: "I think this is a change in the wind." "Winter is here-ah, my love, winter is here!"

It has come in her heart and mine!

Our breakfast time is short and silent, a day full of pleasant and enjoyable planning discussions. Miss Fairy seemed to be depressed by the long pause in the conversation, and looked attractively at her sister to fill them. The young lady finally made a speech after checking herself hesitantly once or twice.

She said, "I saw your uncle, Laura this morning." "He thinks the purple room is a room that should be prepared, and he confirmed what I told you. Monday is a day, not Tuesday."

While saying these words, Miss Fairlie looked down at the table below her. Her fingers moved nervously among the debris scattered on the cloth. The paleness of the cheeks spread across the lips, and the lips themselves trembled. I am not the only one who noticed this. The young lady also saw this and immediately set us an example of getting up from the table.

The lady and the lady left the room together. Sad blue eyes looked at me, looking at me for a moment with the sadness that was coming and the long farewell. I feel the pain in my heart-telling me that I must lose her pain as soon as possible, and love her more firmly for loss.

The door closed for her, and I turned to the garden. The young lady was standing in her hand with a hat and a shawl on her arm. She reached out to the large window leading to the lawn and looked at me intently.

She asked: "Do you have free time before you start working in your own room?"

"Of course, miss. I have been serving you."

"I want to say a word to you in private, Mr. Hartwright. Put on your hat and walk into the garden. We are unlikely to be disturbed this hour in the morning."

When we walked to the lawn, one of the garden lads-a lad-with a letter in his hand, passed us to the house. Miss Halcomb stopped him.

"Is that letter for me?" she asked.

The young man replied, "Well, miss; it is said to be for Miss Fairley."

The lady took it away from him and looked at the address.

"A strange handwriting," she said to herself. "Who is Laura's correspondent? Where did you get it?" She continued to speak to the gardener.

The young man said, "Well, miss, I just got it from a woman."

"What woman?"

"A woman who has been severely tortured."

"Oh, an old lady. Do you know anyone?"

"I can't fool myself and say that she is not my stranger."

"Which way does she go?"

"That door," said the gardener, thinking southward for a moment, and embraced the whole area of ​​England with one arm.

Miss Halcomb said, "I'm very curious." She added, "I think it must be a begging letter. There, give the letter to the young man, "Send it home and give it to a servant. Now, Mr. Hartwright, if you have no objection, let us go this way. "

She led me across the lawn, along the road that followed her the day after I arrived in Limerick.

In the cabin where Laura Fillie and I first met, she stopped and broke the silence she had kept while we were walking together.

"What I have to say to you I can say here."

With these words, she entered the summer house, sat on a chair by the small round table inside, and signed my chair. I doubt what happens when she talks to me in the breakfast room. I am determined now.

"Mr. Hartwright," she said, "I want to swear frankly to you first. What I want to say is-I am ashamed to confess, nor express my heartfelt contempt. When you first told me you were so I am happy to serve you when the unhappy woman behaved in a special situation. The extramarital affairs may not be very prudent, but it shows the self-control, refinement and compassion of a naturally gentleman. This makes me I have high hopes for you, and you have not lived up to my expectations."

She stopped, but at the same time raised her hand, which showed that she did not wait for any answer from me before continuing. When I entered the summer house, I never thought of a woman in white. But now, Miss Halcomb’s own words reminded me of my adventures. It stayed there throughout the interview, still there, and not without results.

No matter what, I should tell you to leave home without any immediate notification or immediate consultation from anyone. As it is, I will blame your years and your misfortune-I don't blame you. Shake hands-I bring you pain; I will give you more, but to no avail-first shake hands with your friend Marianne Holcomb. "

Sudden kindness-enthusiasm, farsightedness, fearless sympathy satisfied me in a compassionate and equal way, attracted me with such a subtle and generous sudden feeling, and my honor and courage immediately overcame me. When she held my hand, I tried to look at her, but my eyes dimmed. I tried to thank her, but my voice disappointed me.

She said: "Listen to me." He fully avoided all notifications of my loss of control. "Listen to me and let us resolve it immediately. I am truly relieved that I am not obliged to raise this issue as I am going to speak now-I think it is a hard and cruel issue of social inequality. This situation will do my best. Let you hurry up and forgive me for the unpleasant necessity of making a man living a friendly and intimate life under the same roof painful by humiliatingly mentioning rank and status issues. Mr. Hartlet, you must leave Limer Ridge Building, and then cause other damage. I have a responsibility to tell you; if you are the representative of the oldest and richest family in England, then under the same strict requirements, I am also responsible for saying this. You must Leave us, not because you are a painting teacher-"

She waited for a while, put her face on me, stretched her hand across the table, and put her hand firmly on my arm.

She repeated: "Not because you are a painting teacher, but because Laura Fairley is engaged."

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