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 her, as he regarded the three figures tripping before him through the frigid pallor of opening day.

‘Not so very different, I think,’ she said.

‘Why do you think that?’

‘There be very few women’s lives that are not—tremulous,’ Tess replied, pausing over the new word as if it impressed her, ‘There’s more in those three than you think.’

‘What is in them?’

‘Almost—either of ’em,’ she began, ‘would make—perhaps would make—a properer wife than I. And perhaps they love you as well as I—almost.’

‘O, Tessy!’

There were signs that it was an exquisite relief to her to hear the impatient exclamation, though she had resolved so intrepidly to let generosity make one bid against herself. That was now done, and she had not the power to attempt self-immolation a second time then. They were joined by a milker from one of the cottages, and no more was said on that which concerned them so deeply. But Tess knew that this day would decide it.