A moment's reflection
got the better of that, of course, and fortunately it came to my relief
so soon, that I didn't leave off playing.'
'Why fortunately?'
'Why? Because she stood there, listening. I had my spectacles on, and
saw her through the chinks in the curtains as plainly as I see you; and
she was beautiful. After a while she glided off, and I continued to play
until she was out of hearing.'
'Why did you do that?'
'Don't you see?' responded Tom. 'Because she might suppose I hadn't seen
her; and might return.'
'And did she?'
'Certainly she did. Next morning, and next evening too; but always when
there were no people about, and always alone. I rose earlier and sat
there later, that when she came, she might find the church door open,
and the organ playing, and might not be disappointed. She strolled that
way for some days, and always stayed to listen. But she is gone now,
and of all unlikely things in this wide world, it is perhaps the most
improbable that I shall ever look upon her face again.'
'You don't know anything more about her?'
'No.'
'And you never followed her when she went away?'
'Why should I distress her by doing that?' said Tom Pinch.
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