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Dickens, Charles, 1812-1870

"The Cricket on the Hearth"

A hard master to you and me, my dear,
for many years. Ugly in his looks, and in his nature. Cold and
callous always. Unlike what I have painted him to you in
everything, my child. In everything.'
'Oh why,' cried the Blind Girl, tortured, as it seemed, almost
beyond endurance, 'why did you ever do this! Why did you ever fill
my heart so full, and then come in like Death, and tear away the
objects of my love! O Heaven, how blind I am! How helpless and
alone!'
Her afflicted father hung his head, and offered no reply but in his
penitence and sorrow.
She had been but a short time in this passion of regret, when the
Cricket on the Hearth, unheard by all but her, began to chirp. Not
merrily, but in a low, faint, sorrowing way. It was so mournful
that her tears began to flow; and when the Presence which had been
beside the Carrier all night, appeared behind her, pointing to her
father, they fell down like rain.
She heard the Cricket-voice more plainly soon, and was conscious,
through her blindness, of the Presence hovering about her father.


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