Capítulo 59: Hope

When Rochester got back to the house, he still did not know what to feel. The decorum he could sense in the air of the sitting room resembled a vault of stilling quiet. Everyone was asleep. All except himself. His mind was a ticking time bomb as he plunged into his favorite sofa. As his thumbs creased upon his temples in a rapid, fluctuating manner, Rochester allowed for the river of thoughts to stream down unrestrained. He could not keep back the flow. His organ would not cease to function, just for a split minute Rochester wished it could but it wouldn't. Like the boots of multiple soldiers stomping against the Prairie, his heart continued to thud, his eardrums pounding with it. His guilt was eating up his flesh without mercy —Gwennette's waywardness was because of him. 

"How many lives have I destroyed without knowing?" Rochester said, abstractly.

Someone else had breezed into the room at just the right hour. "Mr. Blenntmort?"