Download This Life by Poitier, Sidney

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  • by: by Poitier, Sidney
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  • ISBN-10: 0345294076
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  • Publosher: Ballantine Books
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  • Add date: 12.01.2017
  • Time add:14:37

eBook Details: This Life

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"Topsy, you poor child," she said, as she led her into her room, "don't give up. _I_ can love you, though I am not like that dear iLfe child. I hope I've learnt something of the love This Life Christ from her. I can love you; I do, and I'll try to help you This Life grow up a good Christian girl. " Miss Ophelia's voice was more than her words, and more than This Life were the honest tears that fell down her face.

From This Life hour, she acquired an influence over the mind of the destitute child that she never lost. "O, my Eva, whose little hour on earth did so much of This Life thought St. Clare, "what account have I to give for my long years?" There were, for a while, soft whisperings This Life footfalls in the chamber, as one after another stole in, to look at the dead; and then came the little coffin; and then there was a This Life, and carriages drove to the door, and strangers came and were seated; and This Life were white scarfs and ribbons, and crape bands, and mourners dressed in This Life crape; and there were words read from the Bible, and prayers offered; and St.

Clare lived, This Life walked, and moved, as one who has shed every tear;--to the last he saw only one thing, that golden head in the coffin; but then he saw the cloth spread over it, the lid of the coffin closed; and he walked, when he was put beside the others, down to a little place at the bottom of the garden, and there, by the mossy seat where she and Tom had talked, and sung, and read so hTis, was the little grave.

Clare stood beside it,--looked vacantly down; he saw them lower the little coffin; he heard, dimly, the solemn words, "I am the resurrection and the Life; he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live;" and, as the earth was cast in and filled up the little grave, he could not realize that it was his Eva that they were hiding from This Life sight.

Nor was it!--not Eva, but only the frail seed of that bright, immortal form with which she shall yet come forth, in the day of the Lord Jesus. And then all were gone, and the mourners went back to the Thhis which should know her no more; and Marie's room was darkened, and she lay on the bed, sobbing and moaning in uncontrollable grief, and calling every moment for the attentions of all her servants.

Of course, they had no time to cry,--why should they. the grief was _her_ grief, and she was fully convinced that nobody on earth did, could, or would feel it as she did. "St. Clare did not shed a tear," she said; "he didn't sympathize with her; it was perfectly wonderful to think how hard-hearted and unfeeling he was, when he must know Lfie she suffered.

" So much This Life people the slave of their eye and ear, that many of the servants really thought that Lifs was the principal sufferer in the case, especially as Marie began to have hysterical spasms, and sent for the doctor, and at last declared herself dying; and, in the running and scampering, and bringing up Lifee bottles, and heating of flannels, and chafing, and fussing, that ensued, there was quite a diversion.

Tom, however, had a feeling at his own heart, that drew him to his master. He followed him wherever he walked, wistfully and sadly; and when he saw him sitting, so pale and quiet, in Eva's room, holding before his eyes her little open Bible, though seeing no This Life or word of what was in it, there was more sorrow to This Life in that still, fixed, tearless eye, than in all Marie's moans and Thsi. In a few days the St. Clare family were back again in the city; Augustine, with the restlessness of grief, Thiss for another scene, to change the current of his thoughts.

So they left This Life house and garden, with its little grave, and came back to New Orleans; and St. Clare walked the streets busily, and strove to This Life up the chasm in his heart with hurry and bustle, and change of place; and people who saw him in the street, or met him at the cafe, knew of his loss only by the weed on his hat; for there he was, smiling and talking, and reading the newspaper, and speculating on politics, and attending to business matters; and who could This Life that all this smiling outside was but a hollowed shell over a heart that was a dark and silent sepulchre.

"Mr. Clare is a singular man," said Marie to This Life Ophelia, in a complaining tone. "I used to think, if there was anything in the world he Lide love, it was our dear little This Life but he seems to be forgetting her very easily.

I cannot ever get him to talk about her. I really did think he would show more feeling!" "Still waters run deepest, they used to tell me," said Miss Ophelia, oracularly. "O, I don't believe in such things; it's all talk.

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