That was the way
she put it in a vernacular which was not Andalusian. Such men love a
grievance, because it gives them an opportunity to talk--with a good case
and to some point, not into the air at imaginary things, as she had so
often seen Jean Jacques do. She knew her Jean Jacques. That is, she
thought she knew her Jean Jacques after living with him for over thirteen
years; but hers was a very common mistake. It is not time which gives
revelation, or which turns a character inside out, and exposes a new and
amazing, maybe revolting side to it. She had never really seen Jean
Jacques, and he had never really seen himself, as he was, but only as
circumstances made him seem to be. What he had showed of his nature all
these forty odd years was only the ferment of a more or less shallow
life, in spite of its many interests: but here now at last was life, with
the crust broken over a deep well of experience and tragedy. She knew as
little what he would do in such a case as he himself knew beforehand. As
the incident of the flume just now showed, he knew little indeed, for he
had done exactly the opposite of what he meant to do.
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