"Two months ago. The day that he left."
"Why haven't you shown it to me?"
"I couldn't make up my mind. I do not know even now that I am right in
letting you see it. But I feel that you have a right to see it. It is
you who must answer it. Not I."
When she had gone, I turned to the chapter in my book where Becky weeps
crocodile tears over poor Rawdon Crawley on the night before Waterloo.
There is no scene in modern literature to match it. But I couldn't get
my mind on it. Nancy was reading Olaf's letter!