"Catalina, Lisita and Paula have come to visit you. Would you not like to
embrace them?"
"Lisita ... Paula ..." I heard Catalina murmur in a far-away voice. "Ah,
yes, I remember. Help me up, father." My father lifted the poor thin body
of his daughter. In spite of all I could do, I could not keep from crying,
thinking that it would be the last time that I would embrace my big sister,
whom I had loved so little. She looked at us for a long while, and then
said calmly, "Have you two come to say good-bye to me?"
"No, no," said my father; "we hope that ..."
"No, father, I'm dying. I know that well. It is useless to keep it from me.
Think of it, only eighteen years old, and yet I've been of no use to
anybody, and nobody's going to miss me very much."
"Catalina," exclaimed my father, "do not speak so. You hurt me talking that
way, and you make Lisita and Paula cry."
"Are you really crying, Lisita?" And Catalina turned her feverish eyes
toward me. "How strange! I have not been a very good sister to you, and I
always thought you didn't care for me."
"Oh, Catalina," I exclaimed, kneeling beside the bed, "please don't die. I
do love you so. I promise to come and care for you every day and I'll never
make another noise while you are sick.
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