Explore "Indiscretion" by Daphne du Maurier on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
I wonder how many people's lives are ruined by a moment's indiscretion. The wrong word at the wrong time -- and then finish to all their dreams. They have to go on living with their tongues bitten a second too late. No use calling back the spoken word. What is said is said.
I know three people who have been made to suffer because of a chance sentence flung into the air. One of them was myself. I lost my job through it. The other fellow lost his ideals; and the woman... well, I guess she did not have much left to lose, anyway. Maybe she lost her one chance of security. I have not seen either of them since. The curt typewritten letter came from him a week later. I packed up then and cleared away from London, leaving the shreds of my career in the wastepaper basket. In less than three months I read an announcement in a weekly rag that he was claiming a divorce. The whole thing was so needless, too. A word from me -- and a word from her. And all through that sordid little street that runs between Shaftesbury Avenue and Leicester Square.