Many times as I am going out of a room I look back to see him working at his desk or pacing about before the fire and I want to say, He is gone. Must he still stand between us?
But I know there is no help for it. Mr Edward Hyde will never leave us. Everything we do in this house is to cover the place where he is still. The way we never speak of him speaks of him. I never enter a room but I expect to find him there. Even now, sitting quietly at the end of the day with my candle and my journal, I seem to hear his strange light footspet on the stair.
Mary Reilly, Valerie Martin