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James, Henry, 1843-1916

"What Maisie Knew"

While
they were about it at any rate, since they WERE ruining you, they might
have done it so as to spare an honest woman. Then I shouldn't have had
to do whatever it is that's the worst: throw up at you the badness you
haven't taken in, or find my advantage in the vileness you HAVE! What I
did lose patience at this morning was at how it was that without your
seeming to condemn--for you didn't, you remember!--you yet did seem to
KNOW. Thank God, in his mercy, at last, IF you do!"
The night, this time, was warm, and one of the windows stood open to the
small balcony over the rail of which, on coming back from dinner, Maisie
had hung a long time in the enjoyment of the chatter, the lights, the
life of the quay made brilliant by the season and the hour. Mrs. Wix's
requirements had drawn her in from this pasture and Mrs. Wix's embrace
had detained her even though midway in the outpouring her confusion
and sympathy had permitted, or rather had positively helped, her to
disengage herself. But the casement was still wide, the spectacle, the
pleasure were still there, and from her place in the room, which, with
its polished floor and its panels of elegance, was lighted from without
more than from within, the child could still take account of them. She
appeared to watch and listen; after which she answered Mrs. Wix with a
question. "If I do know--?"
"If you do condemn." The correction was made with some austerity.
It had the effect of causing Maisie to heave a vague sigh of oppression
and then after an instant and as if under cover of this ambiguity pass
out again upon the balcony.


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