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Pagina 781 de 896

Autor: Charles Dickens

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"I write with so much difficulty, the cold is so severe, I am so
fearful of being detected and consigned to an underground cell
and total darkness, that I must abridge this narrative. There is
no confusion or failure in my memory; it can recall, and could
detail, every word that was ever spoken between me and those
brothers.
"She lingered for a week. Towards the last, I could understand
some few syllables that she said to me, by placing my ear close
to her lips. She asked me where she was, and I told her; who I
was, and I told her. It was in vain that I asked her for her
family name. She faintly shook her head upon the pillow, and kept
her secret, as the boy had done.

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