I picked it up.
"This was the last book that Uncle Leonard ever read," I said to myself, turning its pages over.

I remembered that he had it in his hand the last night of his life, when I bade him goodnight.

I was not in the room the next day, till he was brought home in a dying state.
Ann had put the books in order, and arranged them, after he went down-town in the morning.
I wondered whether Richard knew that that was the last book he had been reading, and I put it by, to tell him of it in the morning when he came.
But in the morning Richard did not come.

Unusual again; and I was for an hour or two surprised.

He always found some excuse for coming on his way down-town: and it was very odd that he should not want to explain his sudden going away last night.