Chapitre 108: Bad Luck.

IT'S NOT MUD.… So then what was it? Blood? Whose blood? Her expression flickered a million changes in that moment that she looked at him, the tragic - news-bearer. Crossing her arms under her breasts, her jaw muscles jutting, she slouched for a bit before tapping on her feet. Nervously at first. Then she stopped. Lips pressed firmly shut, and shrunken eyes, she seemed to wrestle with herself, pondering.…

What exactly was Preston saying? She thought that there was no way something could have happened to Rochester. Because why should it?

"Look, Preston…."

"Yeess?" The boy plucked his hands from inside his pocket where he'd found a handkerchief. He began swabbing the debris off his shirt. Louisa, whose eyes were briefly distracted as he did that, picked the clear red stains that smeared on the white hankie. She could not deny it anymore—that was blood on Preston's shirt— but it did not mean that his report concerning Rochester was accurate because of that.