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           Jemsatdowninacane-bottomchairandopenedIvanhoe.Ipulledupanotheroneandsatbesidehim.

           "Comecloser,"saidMrs.Dubose."Cometothesideofthebed."

           Wemovedourchairsforward.ThiswasthenearestIhadeverbeentoher,andthethingIwantedmosttodowasmovemychairbackagain.

           Shewashorrible.Herfacewasthecolorofadirtypillowcase,andthecornersofhermouthglistenedwithwet,whichinchedlikeaglacierdownthedeepgroovesenclosingherchin.Old-ageliverspotsdottedhercheeks,andherpaleeyeshadblackpinpointpupils.Herhandswereknobby,andthecuticlesweregrownupoverherfingernails.Herbottomplatewasnotin,andherupperlipprotruded;fromtimetotimeshewoulddrawhernetherliptoherupperplateandcarryherchinwithit.Thismadethewetmovefaster.

           Ididn’tlookanymorethanIhadto.JemreopenedIvanhoeandbeganreading.Itriedtokeepupwithhim,buthereadtoofast.WhenJemcametoawordhedidn’tknow,heskippedit,butMrs.Dubosewouldcatchhimandmakehimspellitout.Jemreadforperhapstwentyminutes,duringwhichtimeIlookedatthesoot-stainedmantelpiece,outthewindow,anywheretokeepfromlookingather.Ashereadalong,InoticedthatMrs.Dubose’scorrectionsgrewfewerandfartherbetween,thatJemhadevenleftonesentencedanglinginmid-air.Shewasnotlistening.

           Ilookedtowardthebed.

           Somethinghadhappenedtoher.Shelayonherback,withthequiltsuptoherchin.Onlyherheadandshoulderswerevisible.Herheadmovedslowlyfromsidetoside.Fromtimetotimeshewouldopenhermouthwide,andIcouldseehertongueundulatefaintly.