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134 THE CHIMES. |
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and that his daughter was again before him, seated at her work. But in a poorer, meaner garret than before; and with no Lilian by her side.
The frame at which she had worked, was put away upon a
shelf and |
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covered up. The chair in which she had sat, was turned against the wall. A history was written in these little things, and in Meg's grief - worn face. Oh! who could fail to read it!
Meg strained her eyes upon
her work until it was too dark
to see the threads; and when
the night closed in, she lighted
her feeble candle and worked
on. Still her old father
was invisible about her;
looking down upon her;
loving her—how
dearly loving her!—
and talking to her in
a tender voice about
the old times, and
Bells. Though
he knew, poor
T r o t t y,
though he
knew she
could not
hear him.
A great part of the evening had worn away, when a knock came at her door. She opened it. A man was on the threshold. A slouching, moody, drunken sloven : wasted by intemperance and vice : and with his matted hair and unshorn beard in wild (lis-
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