She paced the room, trembling and indignant. She went and leaned on the chest of drawers over which the picture hung, and gazed and gazed at it. Its eyes seemed to look down on her with a reproach that deepened as she looked. The early dear, dear memories of that brief prime of love rushed back upon her. The wound which years had scarcely cicatrized bled afresh, and oh, how bitterly! She could not bear the reproaches of the husband there before her. It couldn't be. Never, never.
Poor Dobbin; poor old William! That unlucky word had undone the work of many a year--the long laborious edifice of a life of love and constancy--raised too upon what secret and hidden foundations, wherein lay buried passions, uncounted struggles, unknown sacrifices--a little word was spoken, and down fell the fair palace of hope--one word, and away flew the bird which he had been trying all his life to lure!

She paced the room, trembling and indignant. Leaning on the chest of drawers over which George's picture hung, she gazed at it. Its eyes seemed to reproach her. The early dear memories of that brief time of love rushed back. The wound bled afresh, and oh, how bitterly. It couldn't be. Never, never.
Poor Dobbin! That unlucky word had undone the work of many a year - the long labour of love and constancy. A word was spoken, and down fell the fair palace of hope - away flew the bird which he had been trying all his life to lure!
