第181章 Chapter XVIII.

When Susannah told the corporal the misadventure of the sash, with all the circumstances which attended the murder of me,--(as she called it,)--the blood forsook his cheeks,--all accessaries in murder being principals,--Trim's conscience told him he was as much to blame as Susannah,--and if the doctrine had been true, my uncle Toby had as much of the bloodshed to answer for to heaven, as either of 'em;--so that neither reason or instinct, separate or together, could possibly have guided Susannah's steps to so proper an asylum. It is in vain to leave this to the Reader's imagination:--to form any kind of hypothesis that will render these propositions feasible, he must cudgel his brains sore,--and to do it without,--he must have such brains as no reader ever had before him.--Why should I put them either to trial or to torture? 'Tis my own affair: I'll explain it myself.