" And I am helpless.
All my aid lies in the learning in those books; and all the
learning in all those books on all sides from floor to ceiling
cannot render me one infinitesimal grain of practical assistance.
If only Pasquale, man of action, swift intelligence, were here!
I can only trust to the trained methods of the unimaginative
machine who has set out to trace Carlotta by means of the scar on
her forehead and the mole behind her ear. And meanwhile I am
very lonely. My sole friend, to whom I could have turned, Mrs.
McMurray, is still at Bude. She is to have a child, I
understand, in the near future, and will stay in Cornwall till
the confinement is over. Her husband, even were he not amid the
midnight stress of his newspaper office, I should shrink from
seeking. He is a Niagara of a man. Judith--I can go to her no
more. And though Antoinette has wept her heart out all day long,
poor soul, and Stenson has conveyed by his manner his respectful
sympathy, I cannot take counsel of my own servants. I have
gathered into my arms the one-eyed cat, and buried my face in his
fur--where Carlotta's face has been buried.
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