[The Secret Agent by Joseph Conrad]@TWC D-Link book
The Secret Agent

CHAPTER XI
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Flying off to her mother, of course.
The thought that women were wearisome creatures after all presented itself to his fatigued brain.

But he was too generous to harbour it for more than an instant.

This man, hurt cruelly in his vanity, remained magnanimous in his conduct, allowing himself no satisfaction of a bitter smile or of a contemptuous gesture.

With true greatness of soul, he only glanced at the wooden clock on the wall, and said in a perfectly calm but forcible manner: "Five and twenty minutes past eight, Winnie.


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