I had had some experience in these fits of perversity,
(whose nature I have been at some trouble to explain), and I
remembered well that in no instance I had successfully resisted
their attacks. And now my own casual self-suggestion that I might
possibly be fool enough to confess the murder of which I had been
guilty, confronted me, as if the very ghost of him whom I had
murdered- and beckoned me on to death.
At first, I made an effort to shake off this nightmare of the
soul. I walked vigorously- faster- still faster- at length I ran. I
felt a maddening desire to shriek aloud. Every succeeding wave of
thought overwhelmed me with new terror, for, alas! I well, too well
understood that to think, in my situation, was to be lost. I still
quickened my pace. I bounded like a madman through the crowded
thoroughfares. At length, the populace took the alarm, and pursued me.
I felt then the consummation of my fate. Could I have torn out my
tongue, I would have done it, but a rough voice resounded in my
ears- a rougher grasp seized me by the shoulder.
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