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Pagina 893 de 896

Autor: Charles Dickens

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She kisses his lips; he kisses hers; they solemnly bless each
other. The spare hand does not tremble as he releases it; nothing
worse than a sweet, bright constancy is in the patient face. She
goes next before him--is gone; the knitting-women count
Twenty-Two.
"I am the Resurrection and the Life, saith the Lord: he that
believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and
whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die."
The murmuring of many voices, the upturning of many faces, the
pressing on of many footsteps in the outskirts of the crowd, so
that it swells forward in a mass, like one great heave of water,
all flashes away. Twenty-Three.
*****
They said of him, about the city that night, that it was the
peacefullest man's face ever beheld there. Many added that he
looked sublime and prophetic.

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