She would have cried for help to Arthur or to
Susie, but something, she knew not what, prevented her. At length, driven
almost to distraction, she thought that Dr Porhoet might do something for
her. He, at least, would understand her misery. There seemed not a moment
to lose, and she hastened to his house. They told her he was out. Her
heart sank, for it seemed that her last hope was gone. She was like a
person drowning, who clings to a rock; and the waves dash against him,
and beat upon his bleeding hands with a malice all too human, as if to
tear them from their refuge.
Instead of going to the sketch-class, which was held at six in the
evening, she hurried to the address that Oliver Haddo had given her. She
went along the crowded street stealthily, as though afraid that someone
would see her, and her heart was in a turmoil. She desired with all her
might not to go, and sought vehemently to prevent herself, and yet withal
she went. She ran up the stairs and knocked at the door. She remembered
his directions distinctly.
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