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Agnes

           Otherwisethestaidoldhousewas,astoitscleanlinessandorder,stilljustasithadbeenwhenIfirstsawit.Irequestedthenewmaidwhoadmittedme,totellMissWickfieldthatagentlemanwhowaitedonherfromafriendabroad,wasthere;andIwasshownupthegraveoldstaircase(cautionedofthestepsIknewsowell),intotheunchangeddrawing-room.ThebooksthatAgnesandIhadreadtogether,wereontheirshelves;andthedeskwhereIhadlabouredatmylessons,manyanight,stoodyetatthesameoldcornerofthetable.AllthelittlechangesthathadcreptinwhentheHeepswerethere,werechangedagain.Everythingwasasitusedtobe,inthehappytime.

           Istoodinawindow,andlookedacrosstheancientstreetattheoppositehouses,recallinghowIhadwatchedthemonwetafternoons,whenIfirstcamethere;andhowIhadusedtospeculateaboutthepeoplewhoappearedatanyofthewindows,andhadfollowedthemwithmyeyesupanddownstairs,whilewomenwentclickingalongthepavementinpattens,andthedullrainfellinslantinglines,andpouredoutofthewater-spoutyonder,andflowedintotheroad.ThefeelingwithwhichIusedtowatchthetramps,astheycameintothetownonthosewetevenings,atdusk,andlimpedpast,withtheirbundlesdroopingovertheirshouldersattheendsofsticks,camefreshlybacktome;fraught,asthen,withthesmellofdampearth,andwetleavesandbriar,andthesensationoftheveryairsthatblewuponmeinmyowntoilsomejourney.

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Roboto Lora
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