Esther’s Narrative

           IthappenedthatwhenIcamehomefromDealIfoundanotefromCaddyJellyby(aswealwayscontinuedtocallher),informingmethatherhealth,whichhadbeenforsometimeverydelicate,wasworseandthatshewouldbemoregladthanshecouldtellmeifIwouldgotoseeher.Itwasanoteofafewlines,writtenfromthecouchonwhichshelayandenclosedtomeinanotherfromherhusband,inwhichhesecondedherentreatywithmuchsolicitude.Caddywasnowthemother,andIthegodmother,ofsuchapoorlittlebabysuchatinyold-facedmite,withacountenancethatseemedtobescarcelyanythingbutcap-border,andalittlelean,long-fingeredhand,alwaysclenchedunderitschin.Itwouldlieinthisattitudeallday,withitsbrightspecksofeyesopen,wondering(asIusedtoimagine)howitcametobesosmallandweak.Wheneveritwasmoveditcried,butatallothertimesitwassopatientthatthesoledesireofitslifeappearedtobetoliequietandthink.IthadcuriouslittledarkveinsinitsfaceandcuriouslittledarkmarksunderitseyeslikefaintremembrancesofpoorCaddy’sinkydays,andaltogether,tothosewhowerenotusedtoit,itwasquiteapiteouslittlesight.ButitwasenoughforCaddythatSHEwasusedtoit.

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