|
The excerpt represents the core issue or deciding factor on which you must meditate, and is drawn from Chance by Joseph Conrad: mud (Fyne was a sight!), scratched by the same brambles, conscious
of the same experience. Yes. Before her. And she looked at us
with folded arms, with an extraordinary fulness of assumed
responsibility. I addressed her.
"You don't believe in an accident, Mrs. Fyne, do you?"
She shook her head in curt negation while, caked in mud and
inexpressibly serious-faced, Fyne seemed to be backing her up with
all the weight of his solemn presence. Nothing more absurd could be
conceived. It was delicious. And I went on in deferential accents:
"Am I to understand then that you entertain the theory of suicide?"
I don't know that I am liable to fits of delirium but by a sudden
Chance | 
