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THE BATTLE OF LIFE. 287 |
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smile: though sadly: murmuring as she kissed her forehead, how that Grace had been a mother to her, ever, and she loved her as a child!
Could draw the passive arm about her neck when lying down to rest—it seemed to cling there, of its own will, protectiiigly and tenderly even in sleep—and breathe upon the parted lips, God bless her!
Could sink into a peaceful sleep, herself; but for one dream, in which she cried out, in her innocent and touching: voice, that she was quite alone, and they had all forgotten her.
A month soon passes, even at its tardiest pace. The month appointed to elapse between that night and the return, was quick of foot, and went by, like a vapour.
The day arrived. A raging winter day, that shook the old house, sometimes, as
if it shivered in the blast. A day to make home doubly home. To give the chimney corner new delights. To shed a ruddier glow upon the faces gathered round the hearth; and draw each fireside group into a closer and more social league, against the
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