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Miss Crawley at Nurse

           Whenanybodyenteredtheroom,sheutteredashshshshsosibilantandominous,thatitfrightenedthepooroldladyinherbed,fromwhichshecouldnotlookwithoutseeingMrs.Bute’sbeadyeyeseagerlyfixedonher,asthelattersatesteadfastinthearm-chairbythebedside.Theyseemedtolighteninthedark(forshekeptthecurtainsclosed)asshemovedabouttheroomonvelvetpawslikeacat.ThereMissCrawleylayfordayseversomanydaysMr.Butereadingbooksofdevotiontoher:fornights,longnights,duringwhichshehadtohearthewatchmansing,thenight-lightsputter;visitedatmidnight,thelastthing,bythestealthyapothecary;andthenlefttolookatMrs.Bute’stwinklingeyes,ortheflicksofyellowthattherushlightthrewonthedrearydarkenedceiling.Hygeiaherselfwouldhavefallensickundersucharegimen;andhowmuchmorethispooroldnervousvictim?Ithasbeensaidthatwhenshewasinhealthandgoodspirits,thisvenerableinhabitantofVanityFairhadasfreenotionsaboutreligionandmoralsasMonsieurdeVoltairehimselfcoulddesire,butwhenillnessovertookher,itwasaggravatedbythemostdreadfulterrorsofdeath,andanuttercowardicetookpossessionoftheprostrateoldsinner.

           Sick-bedhomiliesandpiousreflectionsare,tobesure,outofplaceinmerestory-books,andwearenotgoing(afterthefashionofsomenovelistsofthepresentday)tocajolethepublicintoasermon,whenitisonlyacomedythatthereaderpayshismoneytowitness.

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Roboto Lora
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