Chapter 25 Chapter Twenty-Four

(Recounting a very dull incident, this chapter, though short, is of considerable importance in this biography.) The peaceful atmosphere in the matron's room was broken by the old woman, who was the most suitable reporter because she was old and hunched over, her limp hands and feet were trembling, her face was distorted and her mouth was contorted, and she was always muttering. Muttering and rolling her eyes, seeing her like that, it's not so much a work of good fortune, it's better to say that she looks like a monster scribbled with a pen. Alas!How few of nature's good faces are left for our appreciation.Toil, sorrow, and hunger in the world can change people's hearts, and they can also change people's faces.Only when all kinds of troubles have passed away and lost their control forever, will the overturned and turbulent clouds dissipate, leaving behind a clear sky.Even if the face of the dead has been completely frozen, it often takes on that long-forgotten expression of a sleeping baby, reverting to its nascent appearance.Once again the faces became so calm and gentle that some who had known them from happy childhood knelt down by the coffin as if they had seen angels come down.

The old crone stumbled across the corridor and up the stairs, murmuring incoherently in reply to the matron's scolding.She finally couldn't bear it anymore, so she stopped to catch her breath, handed the lamp to Mrs. Coney, rested behind herself, and then tried her best to follow. Her superior, who became more agile, walked straight into the sick woman A house where people live. It was an empty attic with a dim lamp burning at the front end.Another old woman stood by the bed, and the parish apothecary's apprentice stood by the fire, whittling a feather into a toothpick. "It's a cold night, Mrs. Corney," said the young gentleman, as the matron entered the door.

"It's very cold, sir," replied Mrs. Corney, in the most modest of tones, curtseying as she spoke. "You should ask the contractor for slightly better coal," said the deputy apothecary, grabbing rusty tongs and breaking a chunk of coal from the stove. "This kind of stuff just can't handle a cold night." "That was bought by the council, sir," replied the matron. "They ought to keep us reasonably warm at least. Our places are bad enough." The sick woman interrupted their conversation with a groan. "Yo." The young man turned his face towards the bed, as if he had completely forgotten about the patient earlier. "Mrs. Corney, it's hopeless."

"It's hopeless, sir, is it?" asked the matron. "I wouldn't wonder if she'd lasted more than two hours," said the pharmacist, absorbed in the point of the toothpick. "The whole system is broken. Old woman, is she dozing off?" The nurse leaned over the bed for a moment and nodded in affirmation. "If you don't make a fuss, she'll probably go that way," said the young man. "Put the lamp on the floor where she can't see it." The nurse did as she was told, and at the same time she shook her head, implying that this woman would not die so easily.After finishing her work, she returned to the seat next to the other nurse, and her companion had also returned to the room at this time.Mrs. Coney looked impatient, wrapped her scarf, and sat down under the bed.

After sharpening the toothpick, the trainee pharmacist stood motionless in front of the stove, picked his teeth for about ten minutes, and then became more and more impatient. He wished her a happy work to Mrs. Corney, and tiptoed out up. They sat in silence for a while, and the two old women got up from the bed, curled up near the fire, and stretched out their wrinkled hands for warmth.The flames cast a pale light onto their withered faces, making their ugly appearance even more hideous.They settled for this posture and started talking in low voices. "My dear Anne, did she say anything after I left?" asked the one who announced the funeral.

"Not a word," answered the other. "For a while she was pulling and wringing her arms, and I took her by the hand, and she fell asleep in no time. There was not much strength in her." , so I subdued her easily. Even though I am also eating the ration of the parish, no matter how bad I am, I can beat an old woman—yes, yes." "The doctor said to give her some mulled wine, did she drink it?" asked the first one. "I wanted to drink it down for her," replied the other, "but she clenched her teeth and held on to the cup so hard that I couldn't help it, so I had to draw it back and just drank it, pouring it out." Not bad."

The two ugly monsters looked back in fear, and concluded that no one was eavesdropping, and moved closer to the fireplace, giggling happily. "I know it," said the one who spoke first, "she'll do it anyway, and let it go after a haha." "Well, that's it," answered the other, "she's got a jolly heart, and lots and lots of pretty dead people, fresh as wax figures, she's sent out. I've seen a lot with my old eyes— —Hey, this pair of old hands has touched it. I have laid hands on her, there must have been dozens of times." As the old woman spoke, she stretched out her fingers tremblingly, and shook her hand triumphantly in front of her, then reached into her pocket and fumbled wildly, took out an old white iron snuff box that had long faded, and shook it out into the palm of her companion's overstretched hand. A few snuff powders.The two were being used, and the matron, who had been waiting bitterly for the dying woman to wake up from her coma, also came over to warm up with them, and asked sharply how long she would have to wait.

"It won't be long, ma'am," said the second old woman, looking up into the patient's face. "None of us can't wait for Death. Take it easy, take it easy. Death will be here soon to see us all." "Shut up, you crazy idiot," said the matron sternly. "You, Martha, tell me the truth, has she ever been like this?" "Often," replied the first old woman. "But it won't happen again," added another, "that is, she'll wake up once more—you'll have to take care, madam, that won't last long." "Whether it's long or short," said the matron petulantly, "she won't see me here even if she wakes up, be careful, you two, how dare you bother me for no reason, and put an end to all the old ladies in the yard It's not my job at all, so I just--I won't say it. Be careful, you ghost old women, you really don't know how to understand. If you dare to fool me again, I will deal with you immediately, and the word is up front. "

She was about to hurry out of the room when the two women turned towards the hospital bed, and suddenly they yelled in unison, and Mrs. Coney couldn't help but look back.It turned out that the patient sat up straight and stretched out his arms towards them. "Who's that?" she cried in a hollow voice. "Shh, shh," said a woman, leaning over her, "lay down, lie down." "I will never lie down again," the patient struggled. "I must tell her. Come here. Come closer. Let me tell you quietly." She grabbed the matron by the shoulders and pushed her into a chair beside the bed. She was about to start the day when she turned her head and saw the two old women bowing forward in a posture that looked like a group of eager audience. .

"Chasing them away," said the patient drowsily, "quick, quick." The two wizened old women cried out together, and began to pour out countless pitiful laments. The poor man was so ill that he didn't even know his closest friend. They made various promises that they would never leave her.At this time, their superiors pushed them out, closed the door, and returned to the bed.The tone of the two old women changed after they were thrown out, and they yelled through the keyhole that old Sally was drunk, which is certainly not impossible, except that the druggist gave her a moderate dose of Opium aside, she was suffering under the potency of a last sip of gin and water, which these respectable old women had secretly made her drink, out of kindness.

"Listen now," said the dying woman aloud, as if desperately trying to rekindle a dying spark. "In this very room—in this very bed—I served a lovely creature whose feet were bruised and covered with dust and blood when she was brought into the workhouse. .She gave birth to a boy and died. Let me see—what year was that again.” "Whatever year it is," said the unhappy listener, "what's the matter with her?" "Oh," murmured the sick man, returning to his former drowsiness, "what's the matter with her?—how—I remember." she cried, her body shaking violently, her face A flush came up, and her eyes bulged—"I stole from her, I stole it. She wasn't cold yet—I tell you, she was still when I stole that." It's not getting cold." "For God's sake, what's been stolen?" the matron yelled, as if calling for help. "This!" the patient replied, covering the other party's mouth with his hand. "The only thing she has. She needs clothes to keep out the cold and something to eat, but she keeps this safe and put it on her heart. I tell you, it's gold. Valuable gold, you can use it Save her life." "Gold!" echoed the matron, and the sick man fell backwards, and she bent over eagerly to follow. "Say, say - yes - what is it? Who is that mother? When did it happen?" "She told me to keep it," replied the patient, with a groan, "and she entrusted me, and I was the only woman by her side. The first time she showed me this thing hanging around her neck, , I have already stole it in my heart. The child's death, perhaps, is also due to me. If they know all this, it may be better for the child." "Know what?" the other party asked, "Tell me." "The child really looks like his mother," the patient babbled, ignoring the question. "As soon as I saw his face, I never forgot it. Wretched girl. Wretched girl. She was so young. What a tame little lamb. Wait, there's more to say. I still Didn't tell you all, did I?" "No, no," replied the matron, bowing her head, trying to catch every word of the dying woman's voice, which was getting weaker and weaker. "Hurry up, it's too late." "That mother," the patient said with more difficulty than before, "that mother, as soon as the pain of death came to her, she whispered in my ear that as long as her baby was born alive, it would be fine." The day would come, if he grew up, when he would not be ashamed to hear his miserable little mother mentioned. 'Oh, good God!' She folded her thin hands , said, 'Whether it's a boy or a girl, in this messy world, you must arrange some good people for the child, and you must pity a lonely child, and you can't leave it alone!"' "What's the child's name?" "They call him Oliver," replied the invalid feebly. "I stole the gold jewels, and it was—" "Yes, yes—what is it?" The other party yelled. She bent down to the old woman urgently, wanting to hear her answer, and instinctively shrank back.The old woman sat up slowly and stiffly again, clutching the sheet tightly with both hands, making a few indistinct gurgling sounds from her throat, and fell down on the bed and did not move. "It's hard." As soon as the door opened, two old women rushed in, one of them said. "In the end, I didn't say anything." The matron responded and walked out casually. The two old women, evidently too busy preparing to perform their dreadful duties, had nothing to answer, and remained, lingering about the corpse.