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Dickens, Charles, 1812-1870

"Nicholas Nickleby"

I do. The interest you take in one so
friendless and forlorn as I, the delicacy with which you have discharged
your trust, the faith you have kept with me, have my warmest thanks:
and, while I make this last feeble acknowledgment, move me to tears,
as you see. But I do not repent, nor am I unhappy. I am happy in the
prospect of all I can achieve so easily. I shall be more so when I look
back upon it, and all is done, I know.'
'Your tears fall faster as you talk of happiness,' said Nicholas, 'and
you shun the contemplation of that dark future which must be laden
with so much misery to you. Defer this marriage for a week. For but one
week!'
'He was talking, when you came upon us just now, with such smiles as I
remember to have seen of old, and have not seen for many and many a day,
of the freedom that was to come tomorrow,' said Madeline, with momentary
firmness, 'of the welcome change, the fresh air: all the new scenes and
objects that would bring fresh life to his exhausted frame. His eye grew
bright, and his face lightened at the thought. I will not defer it for
an hour.'
'These are but tricks and wiles to urge you on,' cried Nicholas.


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