VOLUME II
49. CHAPTER XLIX
(continued)
"Is it the idea of the harm I may do you?" Osmond asked.
"No; it's the idea of the good I may do for you. It's that,"
Madame Merle pursued, "that made me so jealous of Isabel. I want
it to be MY work," she added, with her face, which had grown hard
and bitter, relaxing to its habit of smoothness.
Her friend took up his hat and his umbrella, and after giving the
former article two or three strokes with his coat-cuff, "On the
whole, I think," he said, "you had better leave it to me."
After he had left her she went, the first thing, and lifted from
the mantel-shelf the attenuated coffee-cup in which he had
mentioned the existence of a crack; but she looked at it rather
abstractedly. "Have I been so vile all for nothing?" she vaguely
wailed.
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