She came up to me, and laying
her hand upon my shoulder she said: 'Come away, brother, this is
cruel hard for you to bear. It's our poor sister Winifred as is dead,
and it ain't nobody else.'
The effect of Sinfi's appearance and of her words upon the woman was
like that of an electric shock. She sat up in her bed open-mouthed,
staring from Sinfi to me, and from me to Sinfi.
'So my darter Winifred's your _sister_ now, is she?' (turning to me).
'A few minutes ago she was your sweet'airt: an' now she seems to ha'
bin your sister. An' she was _your_ sister, too, was she?' (turning
to Sinfi). 'Well, all I know is, that she was my darter, Winifred
Gudgeon, as is dead, an' buried in the New North Cemetery, pore dear;
an' yet she was sister to both on ye!'
She then buried her face again in the pillows and resumed the rocking
movement, shrieking between her peals of laughter: 'Well, if I'm the
mother of a six-fut Gypsy gal an' a black-eyed chap as seems jest
atween a Gypsy and a Christian, I never knowed _that_ afore. No, I
never knowed _that_ afore! I allus said I should die a-larfin', an'
so I shall; I'm a-dyin' now--ha! ha! ha!'
She fell back upon the pillow, exhausted by her own cruel merriment.
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