Page 1188 - bleak-house
P. 1188
Very familiar to him, as he said himself some hours ago,
George Rouncewell lifts him into easier positions through
the long remainder of the blank wintry night, and equally
familiar with his unexpressed wish, extinguishes the light
and undraws the curtains at the first late break of day. The
day comes like a phantom. Cold, colourless, and vague, it
sends a warning streak before it of a deathlike hue, as if it
cried out, ‘Look what I am bringing you who watch there!
Who will tell him!’
1188 Bleak House
