health, he never really loved me.

Then Jack reminded me further of other scenes that came much later
in my forgotten life. He reminded me of my trip to Torquay, where I
first met him: and all at once the whole history of my old visits to
the Moores came back like a flood to me. The memory seemed to
inundate and overwhelm my brain. They were the happiest time of all
life, those delightful visits, when I met Jack and fell in love with
him, and half confided my love to my Cousin Minnie. Strange to say,
though at Torquay itself I'd forgotten it all, in that little
Canadian house, with Jack by my side to recall it, it rushed back
like a wave upon me. I'd fallen in love with Jack without my
father's knowledge or consent; and I knew very well my father would
never allow me to marry him. He had ideas of his own, my father,
about the sort of person I ought to marry: and I half suspected in
my heart of hearts he meant if possible always to keep me at home
single to take care of him and look after him. I didn't know, as
yet, he had sufficient reasons of his own for desiring me to remain
for ever unmarried.

I remembered, too, that I never really loved my father. His nature
was hard, cold, reserved, unsympathetic. I only feared and obeyed
him. At times, my own strong character came out, I remembered, and I
defied him to his face, defied him openly. Then there were scenes in
the house, dreadful scenes, too hateful to dwell upon: and the
servants came up to my room at the end and comforted me.

So, step by step, Jack reminded me of everything in my own past
life, up to the very night of the murder, from which my Second State
dated. I'd come back from Torquay a week or two before, very full