He read the letters successively and slowly, putting others back into his pocket but keeping these for a long time afterwards gathered in his lap.

He held them there, lost in thought, as if to prolong the presence of what they gave him; or as if at the least to assure them their part in the constitution of some lucidity.
His friend wrote admirably, and her tone was even more in her style than in her voice--he might almost, for the hour, have had to come this distance to get its full carrying quality; yet the plentitude of his consciousness of difference consorted perfectly with the deepened intensity of the connexion.

It was the difference, the difference of being just where he was and AS he was, that formed the escape--this difference was so much greater than he had dreamed it would be; and what he finally sat there turning over was the strange logic of his finding himself so free.

He felt it in a manner his duty to think out his state, to approve the process, and when he came in fact to trace the steps and add up the items they sufficiently accounted for the sum.
He had never expected--that was the truth of it--again to find himself young, and all the years and other things it had taken to make him so were exactly his present arithmetic.

He had to make sure of them to put his scruple to rest.
It all sprang at bottom from the beauty of Mrs.Newsome's desire that he should be worried with nothing that was not of the essence of his task; by insisting that he should thoroughly intermit and break she had so provided for his freedom that she would, as it were, have only herself to thank.