Explore "The Last Chronicle of Barset" by Anthony Trollope on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Matters went very badly indeed in the parsonage house at Hogglestock. On the Friday morning, the morning of the day after his committal, Mr. Crawley got up very early, long before the daylight, and dressing himself in the dark, groped his way downstairs. His wife having vainly striven to persuade him to remain where he was, followed him into the cold room below with a lighted candle. She found him standing with his hat on and with his old cloak, as though he were prepared to go out. "Why do you do this? " she said. "You will make yourself ill with the cold and the night air; and then you, and I too, will be worse than we now are. "
"We cannot be worse. You cannot be worse, and for me it does not signify. Let me pass. "