"Aunt Anne, what is it?" Maggie whispered.
"It's the pain--" Her voice was far away as though some one were
speaking from the passage outside the door. "It's the pain . . . I
can't . . . much more . . ."
Maggie remembered what Martha had told her about the drops. She
found the little green bottle, saw the glass by the side of it.
Suddenly she heard Aunt Anne: "Oh no . . . Oh no! God I can't . . .
God, I can't . . . I can't."
Maggie bent over the bed; she put her hand behind her aunt's back
and could feel the whole body quivering, the flesh damp beneath the
night-dress. She steadied her, then put the glass to her lips.
The cry was now a little whisper. "No more . . . I can . . . no
more." Then more softly still: "Thy will, oh Lord. As thou wilt--Our
Father, which art in Heaven, Hallowed . . . Hallowed . . . Hallowed
. . ."
She sank down on to her pillows.
"Is it better?" Maggie asked.
Her aunt caught her hand.
"You mustn't leave me. I shan't live long, but you must stay with me
until I go. Promise me! Promise me!"
"No, I can't promise," said Maggie.
"You must stay. You must stay.
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