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A Minor Poet and other Verse. Levy, Amy, 1861–1889.
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page: 72

EPILOGUE.

Thus ran the words ; or rather, thus did run Their purport. Idly seeking in the chest (You see it yonder), I had found them there : Some blotted sheets of paper in a case, With a woman’s name writ on it : “Adelaide.” Twice on the writing there was scored the date Of ten years back ; and where the words had end Was left a space, a dash, a half‐writ word, As tho’ the writer minded, presently The matter to pursue. I questioned her, That worthy, worthy soul, my châtelaine, Who, nothing loth, made answer. There had been Another lodger ere I had the rooms, Three months gone by—a woman. “Young, sir ? No. Must have seen forty if she’d seen a day ! A lonesome woman ; hadn’t many friends ; Wrote books, I think, and things for newspapers. page: 73 Short in her temper—eyes would flash and flame At times, till I was frightened. Paid her rent Most regular, like a lady. Ten years back, They say (at least Ann Brown says), ten years back The lady had a lover. Even then She must have been no chicken. Three months since She died. Well, well, the Lord is kind and just. I did my best to tend her, yet indeed It’s bad for trade to have a lodger die. Her brother came, a week before she died : Buried her, took her things, threw in the fire The littered heaps of paper. Yes, the sheets, They must have been forgotten in the chest ;— I never knew her name was Adelaide.”
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