John made her sit down, and gave her a glass of wine.
"I've been with them since four this morning, and it makes me weakly like," said she.

"That poor Mr.March!--I didn't like him very much alive, but I do feel so sorry now he's a-dying." Then he WAS dying.
"Does his daughter know ?" I asked.
"No--no--I dare not tell her.

Nobody dare." "Does she not guess it ?" "Not a bit.

Poor young body! she's never seen anybody so.

She fancies him no worse than he has been, and has got over it.