A Last Retrospect

           Andnowmywrittenstoryends.Ilookback,oncemoreforthelasttimebeforeIclosetheseleaves.

           Iseemyself,withAgnesatmyside,journeyingalongtheroadoflife.Iseeourchildrenandourfriendsaroundus;andIheartheroarofmanyvoices,notindifferenttomeasItravelon.

           Whatfacesarethemostdistincttomeinthefleetingcrowd?Lo,these;allturningtomeasIaskmythoughtsthequestion!

           Hereismyaunt,instrongerspectacles,anoldwomanoffour-scoreyearsandmore,butuprightyet,andasteadywalkerofsixmilesatastretchinwinterweather.

           Alwayswithher,herecomesPeggotty,mygoodoldnurse,likewiseinspectacles,accustomedtodoneedle-workatnightveryclosetothelamp,butneversittingdowntoitwithoutabitofwaxcandle,ayard-measureinalittlehouse,andawork-boxwithapictureofSt.Paul’suponthelid.

           ThecheeksandarmsofPeggotty,sohardandredinmychildishdays,whenIwonderedwhythebirdsdidn’tpeckherinpreferencetoapples,areshrivellednow;andhereyes,thatusedtodarkentheirwholeneighbourhoodinherface,arefainter(thoughtheyglitterstill);butherroughforefinger,whichIonceassociatedwithapocketnutmeg-grater,isjustthesame,andwhenIseemyleastchildcatchingatitasittottersfrommyaunttoher,Ithinkofourlittleparlourathome,whenIcouldscarcelywalk.Myaunt’solddisappointmentissetright,now.

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