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The Poor Clare by Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell
page 54 of 73 (73%)
has been looking in upon me through that window all day long. I
closed it up with my shawl; and then I saw her feet below the door,
as long as it was light, and I knew she heard my very breathing--nay,
worse, my very prayers; and I could not pray, for her listening
choked the words ere they rose to my lips. Tell me, who is she?--
what means that double girl I saw this morning? One had a look of my
dead Mary; but the other curdled my blood, and yet it was the same!"

She had taken hold of my arm, as if to secure herself some human
companionship. She shook all over with the slight, never-ceasing
tremor of intense terror. I told her my tale as I have told it you,
sparing none of the details.

How Mistress Clarke had informed me that the resemblance had driven
Lucy forth from her father's house--how I had disbelieved, until,
with mine own eyes, I had seen another Lucy standing behind my Lucy,
the same in form and feature, but with the demon-soul looking out of
the eyes. I told her all, I say, believing that she--whose curse was
working so upon the life of her innocent grandchild--was the only
person who could find the remedy and the redemption. When I had
done, she sat silent for many minutes.

"You love Mary's child?" she asked.

"I do, in spite of the fearful working of the curse--I love her. Yet
I shrink from her ever since that day on the moor-side. And men must
shrink from one so accompanied; friends and lovers must stand afar
off. Oh, Bridget Fitzgerald! loosen the curse! Set her free!"

"Where is she?"
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