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Collins, Wilkie, 1824-1889

"Poor Miss Finch"

My heart swelled in
me as I looked at her, and felt the horrid discovery that I had made
still present in my mind. "Forgive me for leaving you," I said in as
steady a voice as I could command at the moment--and kissed her.
She instantly discovered my agitation, carefully as I thought I had
concealed it.
"You are frightened too!" she exclaimed, taking my hands in hers.
"Frightened, my love?" I repeated. (I was perfectly stupefied; I really
did not know what to say!)
"Yes. Now the time is so near, I feel my courage failing me. I forbode
all sorts of horrible things. Oh! when will it be over? what will Oscar
look like when I see him?"
I answered the first question. Who could answer the second?
"Herr Grosse comes to us by the morning train," I said. "It will soon be
over."
"Where is Oscar?"
"On his way here, I have no doubt."
"Describe him to me once more," she said eagerly. "For the last time,
before I see. His eyes, his hair, his complexion--everything!"
How I should have got through the painful task which she had innocently
imposed on me, if I had attempted to perform it, I hardly like to think.
To my infinite relief, I was interrupted at my first word by the opening
of the door, and the sudden appearance of a family deputation in the
room.
First, strutting with slow and solemn steps, with one hand laid
pathetically on the breast of his clerical waistcoat, appeared Reverend
Finch.


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