Wicket will look after you. She's a good woman, Mr. Jeminy. My
mind's at peace. I never knew death was so simple and ordinary. It's
almost like nothing."
She sank back; her voice gave out and she began to cough. "You will
only tire yourself by talking," said Mr. Jeminy. "Rest now. Then in
the morning . . ."
"No," said Mrs. Grumble faintly, "there'll be no morning for me, unless
it's the morning of the Lord. Not where I'm going."
"You are going where I, too, must go," said Mr. Jeminy. "You are going
a little before me. Soon I shall come hurrying after you."
"It's nearly over," said Mrs. Grumble. "I did what I could." Her mind
began to wander; she spoke some words to herself.
"You, God," said Mr. Jeminy aloud, "this is your doing. Then come and
be present; receive the forgiveness of this good woman, to whom you
gave, in this life, poverty and sacrifice."
"Please," whispered Mrs. Grumble, "speak of God with more respect."
They were her last words; it was the end. A spasm of coughing shook
her; for a moment she seemed anxious to speak.
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