obtruded themselves over and over again, countless times. Neither
were they connected with fear: he was conscious of no fear.
Rather, they originated in a strange besetting desire to know what
to do when the time came; a desire gigantically disproportionate to
the few swift moments to which it referred; a wondering that was
more like the wondering of some other spirit within his, than his
own.
The hours went on as he walked to and fro, and the clocks
struck the numbers he would never hear again. Nine gone for
ever, ten gone for ever, eleven gone for ever, twelve coming on to
pass away. After a hard contest with the eccentric action of
Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics
thought which had last perplexed him, he had got the better of it.
He walked up and down softly repeating their names to himself.
The worst of the strife was over. He could walk up and down, free
from distracting fancies, praying for himself and for them.
Twelve gone for ever.
He had been apprised that the final hour was Three, and he
knew he would be summoned some time earlier. inasmuch as the
tumbrils jolted heavily and slowly through the streets. Therefore,
he resolved to keep Two before his mind, as the hour, and so to
strengthen himself in the interval that he might be able, after that
time. to strengthen others.
Walking regularly to and fro wit