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Excerpt: ...went through to the tiny room. "Ah, pore dear! Pore lamb! She's gone, an' she's outen all her mis'ry. She'll niver suffer any more. An' she's safe-" Mrs. Murphy paused, not quite sure she could give that comfort. There was purgatory, and the poor thing had never been christened. She was extremely ignorant of her own church doctrine; but she felt the bitter injustice of condemning this poor soul to everlasting torment for her mother's neglect. "No, Misses Murphy," cried Dil in the accent of utter disbelief, "she can't be-Oh, hurry an' do somethin' for her. She's jes fainted! Le's get her warm agen. Bring her out to the fire, an' I'll run for the 'Spensary doctor. Oh, no, she isn't-she wouldn't-'cause we was goin' to heaven together in the spring, an' she couldn't leave me without a word-don't you see?" Oh, the wild, imploring eyes that pierced Mrs. Murphy through! the heart-breaking eyes that entreated vainly, refusing the one unalterable fiat! "Ah, dear, they'sen don't hev any ch'ice. O 151 Dil, Dilly Quinn!" and she clasped the child to her heart. "You mustn't take on so, dear! Shure, God knows best. Mebbe he's better'n folks an' the things they say. She won't suffer any more, pore dear. I've seen it for weeks, an' knowed what must come." Dil gave a few long, dry, terrible sobs; then she lay helpless in Mrs. Murphy's arms. The kind soul placed her on the cot, sprinkled water on her face, chafed her hands; but Dil lay as one dead. Then she ran down-stairs. "O Mrs. Minch! have ye iver a bit of camphire? I used the last o' mine this mornin' for the pore old craythur. Bessy Quinn's gone at last, an' is cold, an' Dil's that overcome she's gone in an norful faint. Come up a bit, do. An' that haythen woman'll not care more'n if it was a kitten. She do be the hardest!" Mrs. Minch laid down her work, looked up the "camphire," and...
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