"
When they got him out of bed, Esther was shocked at the spectacle of his
poor body. There was nothing left of him. His poor chest, his wasted ribs,
his legs gone to nothing, and the strange weakness, worst of all, which
made it so hard for them to dress him. At last it was nearly done: Esther
laced one boot, the nurse the other, and, leaning on Esther's arm, he
looked round the room for the last time. The navvy turned round on his bed
and said--
"Good-bye, mate."
"Good-bye.... Good-bye, all."
The clerk's little son clung to his mother's skirt, frightened at the
weakness of so big a man.
"Go and say good-bye to the gentleman."
The little boy came forward timidly, offering his hand. William looked at
the poor little white face; he nodded to the father and went out.
As he went downstairs he said he would like to go home in a hansom. The
doctor and nurse expostulated, but he persisted until Esther begged of him
to forego the wish for her sake.
"They do rattle so, these four-wheelers, especially when the windows are
up. One can't speak."
The cab jogged up Piccadilly, and as it climbed out of the hollow the
dying man's eyes were fixed on the circle of lights that shone across the
Green Park. They looked like a distant village, and Esther wondered if
William was thinking of Shoreham--she had seen Shoreham look like that
sometimes--or if he was thinking that he was looking on London for the
last time.
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