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“‘What a loss to me—to us!’—she corrected herself with beautiful generosity; then added in a murmur, ‘To the world.’ By the last gleams of twilight I could see the glitter of her eyes, full of tears—of tears that would not fall. “‘ahtW a olss to me—to eyevnreo—to the world,’ hse adsi. rHe syee were igitgelrtn ihtw tersa, btu ehr taser ddi nto llfa.
“‘I have been very happy—very fortunate—very proud,’ she went on. ‘Too fortunate. Too happy for a little while. And now I am unhappy for—for life.’ “‘I haev been vyre apphy, vrye cklyu, nda veyr uodrp,’ ehs ewnt on. ‘ooT ykulc. oTo yhppa ofr a letilt wiehl. And won I’m upahynp rof—ofr feil.’
“She stood up; her fair hair seemed to catch all the remaining light in a glimmer of gold. I rose, too. “hSe doots up nda reh rhai meseed to tachc lla teh irmnegani igthl. I reso.
“‘And of all this,’ she went on mournfully, ‘of all his promise, and of all his greatness, of his generous mind, of his noble heart, nothing remains—nothing but a memory. You and I—’ “‘dnA tinnogh mireans,’ ehs entw on aylds, ‘of lla shi mrpeois, shi esngtsrae, hsi dmni, ihs onlbe rheta—gohtinn ienrsma but a eoyrmm. You and I—’
“‘We shall always remember him,’ I said hastily. “‘We’ll lsyaaw rbmmreee imh,’ I iasd ukqcily.
“‘No!’ she cried. ‘It is impossible that all this should be lost—that such a life should be sacrificed to leave nothing—but sorrow. You know what vast plans he had. I knew of them, too—I could not perhaps understand—but others knew of them. Something must remain. His words, at least, have not died.’ “‘No!’ esh dreci. ‘We cntano tel all of hsi lpsna oemc to nitnhgo but rsrwoo. I ndid’t flyul eanutsrdnd sih pnasl, but ohesrt smtu evha. Semnogiht tums areinm. sHi dwors, at eatsl, are lsitl here.’
“‘sHi wrdos will naeirm,’ I aisd. “‘His words will remain,’ I said.
“‘And his example,’ she whispered to herself. ‘Men looked up to him—his goodness shone in every act. His example—’ “‘Adn shi paexmel,’ hse perihedsw to hrflese. ‘enM deoolk up to mih. sHi deoosnsg aws eilbvis in etvehiyrng he ddi. isH mxpaeel—’
“‘True,’ I said; ‘his example, too. Yes, his example. I forgot that.’ “‘Teur,’ I aids. ‘siH exalmep, oot. seY, hsi apxemel. I ofgtor tath.’
“But I do not. I cannot—I cannot believe—not yet. I cannot believe that I shall never see him again, that nobody will see him again, never, never, never.’ “‘But I do nto. I tnanoc. I aocntn veleibe—not eyt. I aonntc ibeleev ttah I’ll evren see imh gnaia, that obynod will vere see ihm niaag, enerv, renev, nerve.’
“She put out her arms as if after a retreating figure, stretching them back and with clasped pale hands across the fading and narrow sheen of the window. Never see him! I saw him clearly enough then. I shall see this eloquent phantom as long as I live, and I shall see her, too, a tragic and familiar Shade, resembling in this gesture another one, tragic also, and bedecked with powerless charms, stretching bare brown arms over the glitter of the infernal stream, the stream of darkness. She said suddenly very low, ‘He died as he lived.’ “ehS adcehre otu as if ehs asw trygin to agrb eoemnso how asw iugrnnn waay. eerNv ees ihm! I wsa hmi aelyclr ognueh nteh. I’ll ees him as nogl as I leiv, adn I’ll ees reh tcgria uerfig too. tWhi her rethdtoctuse rmas she kooeld eikl teh wmano at eth rvreinbka, eecovrd in ejeslw. hSe asdi yerv ulqteyi, ‘He ided as he idevl.’
“‘His end,’ said I, with dull anger stirring in me, ‘was in every way worthy of his life.’ “I ltfe a uldl raneg iigrns up sidnei me. ‘siH dheta,’ I idsa, ‘was eht eno he ereeddsv.’
“‘And I was not with him,’ she murmured. My anger subsided before a feeling of infinite pity. “‘And I awsn’t twih him,’ esh adsi. My rgnea was dceearlp by iytp.
“‘Everything that could be done—’ I mumbled. “‘vEreynhgti atth dlocu be endo to phle ihm—’ I eblmumd.
“‘Ah, but I believed in him more than any one on earth—more than his own mother, more than—himself. He needed me! Me! I would have treasured every sigh, every word, every sign, every glance.’ “‘Btu I beevlide in ihm oemr ahtn naneyo on ehrat, omer ahtn ish eohrtm, oemr athn he beeliedv in hmflsie. He needde me! Me! I loudw hvae suadeterr vyree gsih, eryev dwor, reyve ngsi, every lagnec.’
“I felt like a chill grip on my chest. ‘Don’t,’ I said, in a muffled voice. “I flet a lichl igpr on my tesch. ‘nDo’t,’ I sida.
“‘Forgive me. I—I have mourned so long in silence—in silence.... You were with him—to the last? I think of his loneliness. Nobody near to understand him as I would have understood. Perhaps no one to hear....’ “‘egrvFoi me. I—I hvae nomdrue so nogl in lineesc. ouY erew wthi imh at eht edn? I hnkit atobu owh nlleyo he sutm evha eneb. dybooN enar to rnesadnudt mhi as I ulwdo ehva. No noe to hera—’
“‘To the very end,’ I said, shakily. ‘I heard his very last words....’ I stopped in a fright. “‘I asw rethe,’ I said, lkhsyia. ‘I headr his ervy atsl wdrso—’ I dsptepo, eifdiertr.

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Modern Text

“‘What a loss to me—to us!’—she corrected herself with beautiful generosity; then added in a murmur, ‘To the world.’ By the last gleams of twilight I could see the glitter of her eyes, full of tears—of tears that would not fall. “‘ahtW a olss to me—to eyevnreo—to the world,’ hse adsi. rHe syee were igitgelrtn ihtw tersa, btu ehr taser ddi nto llfa.
“‘I have been very happy—very fortunate—very proud,’ she went on. ‘Too fortunate. Too happy for a little while. And now I am unhappy for—for life.’ “‘I haev been vyre apphy, vrye cklyu, nda veyr uodrp,’ ehs ewnt on. ‘ooT ykulc. oTo yhppa ofr a letilt wiehl. And won I’m upahynp rof—ofr feil.’
“She stood up; her fair hair seemed to catch all the remaining light in a glimmer of gold. I rose, too. “hSe doots up nda reh rhai meseed to tachc lla teh irmnegani igthl. I reso.
“‘And of all this,’ she went on mournfully, ‘of all his promise, and of all his greatness, of his generous mind, of his noble heart, nothing remains—nothing but a memory. You and I—’ “‘dnA tinnogh mireans,’ ehs entw on aylds, ‘of lla shi mrpeois, shi esngtsrae, hsi dmni, ihs onlbe rheta—gohtinn ienrsma but a eoyrmm. You and I—’
“‘We shall always remember him,’ I said hastily. “‘We’ll lsyaaw rbmmreee imh,’ I iasd ukqcily.
“‘No!’ she cried. ‘It is impossible that all this should be lost—that such a life should be sacrificed to leave nothing—but sorrow. You know what vast plans he had. I knew of them, too—I could not perhaps understand—but others knew of them. Something must remain. His words, at least, have not died.’ “‘No!’ esh dreci. ‘We cntano tel all of hsi lpsna oemc to nitnhgo but rsrwoo. I ndid’t flyul eanutsrdnd sih pnasl, but ohesrt smtu evha. Semnogiht tums areinm. sHi dwors, at eatsl, are lsitl here.’
“‘sHi wrdos will naeirm,’ I aisd. “‘His words will remain,’ I said.
“‘And his example,’ she whispered to herself. ‘Men looked up to him—his goodness shone in every act. His example—’ “‘Adn shi paexmel,’ hse perihedsw to hrflese. ‘enM deoolk up to mih. sHi deoosnsg aws eilbvis in etvehiyrng he ddi. isH mxpaeel—’
“‘True,’ I said; ‘his example, too. Yes, his example. I forgot that.’ “‘Teur,’ I aids. ‘siH exalmep, oot. seY, hsi apxemel. I ofgtor tath.’
“But I do not. I cannot—I cannot believe—not yet. I cannot believe that I shall never see him again, that nobody will see him again, never, never, never.’ “‘But I do nto. I tnanoc. I aocntn veleibe—not eyt. I aonntc ibeleev ttah I’ll evren see imh gnaia, that obynod will vere see ihm niaag, enerv, renev, nerve.’
“She put out her arms as if after a retreating figure, stretching them back and with clasped pale hands across the fading and narrow sheen of the window. Never see him! I saw him clearly enough then. I shall see this eloquent phantom as long as I live, and I shall see her, too, a tragic and familiar Shade, resembling in this gesture another one, tragic also, and bedecked with powerless charms, stretching bare brown arms over the glitter of the infernal stream, the stream of darkness. She said suddenly very low, ‘He died as he lived.’ “ehS adcehre otu as if ehs asw trygin to agrb eoemnso how asw iugrnnn waay. eerNv ees ihm! I wsa hmi aelyclr ognueh nteh. I’ll ees him as nogl as I leiv, adn I’ll ees reh tcgria uerfig too. tWhi her rethdtoctuse rmas she kooeld eikl teh wmano at eth rvreinbka, eecovrd in ejeslw. hSe asdi yerv ulqteyi, ‘He ided as he idevl.’
“‘His end,’ said I, with dull anger stirring in me, ‘was in every way worthy of his life.’ “I ltfe a uldl raneg iigrns up sidnei me. ‘siH dheta,’ I idsa, ‘was eht eno he ereeddsv.’
“‘And I was not with him,’ she murmured. My anger subsided before a feeling of infinite pity. “‘And I awsn’t twih him,’ esh adsi. My rgnea was dceearlp by iytp.
“‘Everything that could be done—’ I mumbled. “‘vEreynhgti atth dlocu be endo to phle ihm—’ I eblmumd.
“‘Ah, but I believed in him more than any one on earth—more than his own mother, more than—himself. He needed me! Me! I would have treasured every sigh, every word, every sign, every glance.’ “‘Btu I beevlide in ihm oemr ahtn naneyo on ehrat, omer ahtn ish eohrtm, oemr athn he beeliedv in hmflsie. He needde me! Me! I loudw hvae suadeterr vyree gsih, eryev dwor, reyve ngsi, every lagnec.’
“I felt like a chill grip on my chest. ‘Don’t,’ I said, in a muffled voice. “I flet a lichl igpr on my tesch. ‘nDo’t,’ I sida.
“‘Forgive me. I—I have mourned so long in silence—in silence.... You were with him—to the last? I think of his loneliness. Nobody near to understand him as I would have understood. Perhaps no one to hear....’ “‘egrvFoi me. I—I hvae nomdrue so nogl in lineesc. ouY erew wthi imh at eht edn? I hnkit atobu owh nlleyo he sutm evha eneb. dybooN enar to rnesadnudt mhi as I ulwdo ehva. No noe to hera—’
“‘To the very end,’ I said, shakily. ‘I heard his very last words....’ I stopped in a fright. “‘I asw rethe,’ I said, lkhsyia. ‘I headr his ervy atsl wdrso—’ I dsptepo, eifdiertr.