She had
once more attempted to meet me in the shrubbery walk, and she had found
me there in company with Betteredge and Sergeant Cuff. In her hearing,
the Sergeant, with his own underhand object in view, had appealed to my
interest in Rosanna Spearman. Again for the poor creature's own sake, I
had met the police-officer with a flat denial, and had declared--loudly
declared, so that she might hear me too--that I felt "no interest
whatever in Rosanna Spearman." At those words, solely designed to warn
her against attempting to gain my private ear, she had turned away and
left the place: cautioned of her danger, as I then believed; self-doomed
to destruction, as I know now. From that point, I have already traced
the succession of events which led me to the astounding discovery at
the quicksand. The retrospect is now complete. I may leave the miserable
story of Rosanna Spearman--to which, even at this distance of time, I
cannot revert without a pang of distress--to suggest for itself all
that is here purposely left unsaid. I may pass from the suicide at the
Shivering Sand, with its strange and terrible influence on my present
position and future prospects, to interests which concern the living
people of this narrative, and to events which were already paving my way
for the slow and toilsome journey from the darkness to the light.
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