e said for his mother's point of view.
It simply wasn't true. It simply was delusion.

Nor could she find anything to be said for his, but then she didn't try
to, it was so manifestly unforgivable. All she could do, faced by this
bitter sorrow, was to leave Edward to God. Sternly, as he flung out of
the room at last, unsoftened, untouchable, deaf to her even when she
used the tone he had always obeyed the tone of authority, she said to
herself she must leave her son to God. God knew. God would judge. And
Clark too would know; and Clark too would judge.

Left alone in the drawing-room on this terrible night of her second
great bereavement, Mrs. Twist was yet able, she was thankful to feel, to
resolve she would try to protect her son as long as she could from
Clark. From God she could not, if she would, protect him; but she would
try to protect him even now, as she had always protected him, from
earthly harm and hurt. Clark would, however, surely know in time,
protect as she might, and judge between her and Edward. God knew
already, and was already judging. God and Clark.... Poor Edward.

CHAPTER XVIII

The twins, who had gone to bed at half-past nine, shepherded by Edith,
in the happy conviction that they had settled down comfortably for some
time, were surprised to find at breakfast that they hadn't.

They had taken a great fancy to Edith, in spite of a want of restfulness
on her part that struck them while they were finishing their supper, and
to which at last they drew her attention. She was so kind, and so like
Mr. Twist; but though she looked at them with hospitable eyes and wore
an expression of real benevolence, it didn't escape their notice that
she seemed to be listening to something that wasn't, anyhow, them, and
to be expecting something that didn't, anyhow, happen. She went several
times to the door through which her brother and mother had disappeared,
and out into whatever part of the house lay beyond it, and when she came
back after a minute or two was as wanting in composure as ever.

At last, finding these abrupt and repeated interruptions hindered any
real talk, they pointed out to her that reasoned conversation was
impossible if one of the parties persisted in not being in the room, and
inquired of her whether it were peculiar to her, or typical of the
inhabitants of America, to keep on being somewhere else. Edith smiled
abstractedly at them, said nothing, and went out again.

She was lon