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AURORA LEIGH.
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Of death, had got theirs ready. And she said,When Lucy thanked her sometimes, called her kind,It touched her strangely. ‘Marian Erle called kind!What, Marian, beaten and sold, who could not die!’Tis verily good fortune to be kind.Ah, you,’ she said, ‘who are born to such a grace,Be sorry for the unlicensed class, the poor,Reduced to think the best good fortune meansThat others, simply, should be kind to them.’
From sleep to sleep while Lucy slid awaySo gently, like a light upon a hill,Of which none names the moment when it goes,Though all see when ’tis gone,—a man came inAnd stood beside the bed. The old idiot wretchScreamed feebly, like a baby overlain,‘Sir, sir, you won't mistake me for the corpse?Don't look at me, sir! never bury me!Although I lie here, I’m alive as you,Except my legs and arms,—I eat and drink,And understand,—(that you’re the gentlemanWho fits the funerals up, Heaven speed you, sir,)And certainly I should be livelier stillIf Lucy here . . sir, Lucy is the corpse . .Had worked more properly to buy me wine:But Lucy, sir, was always slow at work,I shan't lose much by Lucy. Marian Erle,Speak up and show the gentleman the corpse.’
And then a voice said, ‘Marian Erle.’ She rose;