I went abroad, resolved--if change and absence could help me--to forget
her. It is, I am persuaded, no true view of human nature which denies
that change and absence DO help a man under these circumstances; they
force his attention away from the exclusive contemplation of his own
sorrow. I never forgot her; but the pang of remembrance lost its worst
bitterness, little by little, as time, distance, and novelty interposed
themselves more and more effectually between Rachel and me.
On the other hand, it is no less certain that, with the act of turning
homeward, the remedy which had gained its ground so steadily, began now,
just as steadily, to drop back. The nearer I drew to the country
which she inhabited, and to the prospect of seeing her again, the more
irresistibly her influence began to recover its hold on me. On leaving
England she was the last person in the world whose name I would have
suffered to pass my lips. On returning to England, she was the first
person I inquired after, when Mr. Bruff and I met again.
I was informed, of course, of all that had happened in my absence;
in other words, of all that has been related here in continuation of
Betteredge's narrative--one circumstance only being excepted.
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