Ann soon fell asleep, as she had
taken an opiate. Mary, then brooding over her fears, began to imagine
she had deceived herself--Ann was still very ill; hope had beguiled many
heavy hours; yet she was displeased with herself for admitting this
welcome guest.--And she worked up her mind to such a degree of anxiety,
that she determined, once more, to seek medical aid.
No sooner did she determine, than she ran down with a discomposed look,
to enquire of the ladies who she should send for. When she entered the
room she could not articulate her fears--it appeared like pronouncing
Ann's sentence of death; her faultering tongue dropped some broken
words, and she remained silent. The ladies wondered that a person of her
sense should be so little mistress of herself; and began to administer
some common-place comfort, as, that it was our duty to submit to the
will of Heaven, and the like trite consolations, which Mary did not
answer; but waving her hand, with an air of impatience, she exclaimed,
"I cannot live without her!--I have no other friend; if I lose her, what
a desart will the world be to me.
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