Johnsy grew weaker each day because she was suffering from pneumonia.

Johnsy could scarcely move her hand because of weakness.

The last leaf clung to the vine outside her window.

Behrman dreamed of creating a masterpiece.

The winter wind was fierce, cutting through the streets.

The building’s watchdog barked loudly at strangers.

The branches were bare, with no leaves left.

Johnsy lay beneath the window, looking at the leaf.

Behrman prepared his canvas for painting.

Sue thought it was silly to link Johnsy’s life to a leaf.

The women lived an artistic life in Greenwich Village.

He painted the last leaf with great determination.

He was very fond of Johnsy and Sue. He cared for them deeply.

The old artist’s studio overlooked the bay, where the water glistened in the sunlight.