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James, Henry, 1843-1916

"The Turn of the Screw"

The icy slope, the turn mistaken at night and in liquor,
accounted for much--practically, in the end and after the inquest and
boundless chatter, for everything; but there had been matters in his life--
strange passages and perils, secret disorders, vices more than suspected--
that would have accounted for a good deal more.
I scarce know how to put my story into words that shall be
a credible picture of my state of mind; but I was in these days
literally able to find a joy in the extraordinary flight of
heroism the occasion demanded of me. I now saw that I had been
asked for a service admirable and difficult; and there would
be a greatness in letting it be seen--oh, in the right quarter!--
that I could succeed where many another girl might have failed.
It was an immense help to me--I confess I rather applaud myself
as I look back!--that I saw my service so strongly and so simply.
I was there to protect and defend the little creatures in
the world the most bereaved and the most lovable, the appeal
of whose helplessness had suddenly become only too explicit,
a deep, constant ache of one's own committed heart.
We were cut off, really, together; we were united in our danger.
They had nothing but me, and I--well, I had THEM. It
was in short a magnificent chance. This chance presented
itself to me in an image richly material. I was a screen--
I was to stand before them.


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