We helped her mind slowly by this simple means, we took her out between us to walk on fine days, in a quiet old city square near at hand, where there was nothing to confuse or alarm her⁠—we spared a few pounds from the fund at the banker’s to get her wine, and the delicate strengthening food that she required⁠—we amused her in the evenings with children’s games at cards, with scrapbooks full of prints which I borrowed from the engraver who employed me⁠—by these, and other trifling attentions like them, we composed her and steadied her, and hoped all things, as cheerfully as we could from time and care, and love that never neglected and never despaired of her. But to take her mercilessly from seclusion and repose⁠—to confront her with strangers, or with acquaintances who were little better than strangers⁠—to rouse the painful impressions of her past life which we had so carefully hushed to rest⁠—this, even in her own interests, we dared not do. Whatever sacrifices it cost, whatever long, weary, heartbreaking delays it involved, the wrong that had been inflicted on her, if mortal means could grapple it, must be redressed without her knowledge and without her help.