“Then, Dr. Seward, you had better let me copy it out for you on my typewriter.” He grew to a positively deathly pallor as he said:⁠—

“No! no! no! For all the world, I wouldn’t let you know that terrible story!”

Then it was terrible; my intuition was right! For a moment I thought, and as my eyes ranged the room, unconsciously looking for something or some opportunity to aid me, they lit on a great batch of typewriting on the table. His eyes caught the look in mine, and, without his thinking, followed their direction. As they saw the parcel he realised my meaning.

“You do not know me,” I said. “When you have read those papers⁠—my own diary and my husband’s also, which I have typed⁠—you will know me better. I have not faltered in giving every thought of my own heart in this cause; but, of course, you do not know me⁠—yet; and I must not expect you to trust me so far.”