My first impulse was to have nothing to do with it--even to let the letter lie untouched, and, if possible, unglanced at.

But already it was too late for the eyes to turn away.

The address had flashed upon me before I thought of any thing, and while Mrs.Busk held it up to me.

And now that address was staring at me, like a contemptuous challenge, while the seal, the symbol of private rights and deterrent honor, lay undermost.
The letter was directed to "H.

W.C., Post-office, Newport, Sussex." The writing was in round hand, and clear, so as not to demand any scrutiny, and to seem like that of a lawyer's clerk, and the envelope was of thin repellent blue.
My second impulse was to break the letter open and read it without shrinking.