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.

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