Do you think you won t live? she asked, partly because she was
curious and partly in hope of making him forget the garden.
I don t suppose I shall, he answered as indifferently as he had
spoken before. Ever since I remember anything I have heard people say
I shan t. At first they thought I was too little to understand and now
they think I don t hear. But I do. My doctor is my father s cousin. He
is quite poor and if I die he will have all Misselthwaite when my
father is dead. I should think he wouldn t want me to live.
Do you want to live? inquired Mary.
No, he answered, in a cross, tired fashion. But I don t want to die.
When I feel ill I lie here and think about it until I cry and cry.
I have heard you crying three times, Mary said, but I did not know
who it was. Were you crying about that? She did so want him to forget
the garden.
I dare say, he answered. Let us talk about something else. Talk
about that garden. Don t you want to see it?
Yes, answered Mary, in quite a low voice.
I do, he went on persistently. I don t think I ever really wanted to
see anything before, but I want to see that garden. I want the key dug
up. I want the door unlocked. I would let them take me there in my
chair. That would be getting fresh air. I am going to make them open
the door.
He had become quite excited and his strange eyes began to shine like
stars and looked more immense than ever.
They have to please me, he said. I will make them take me there and
I will let you go, too.
Mary s hands clutched each other. Everything would be
spoiled everything! Dickon would never come back. She would never again
feel like a missel thrush with a safe-hidden nest.
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