The agony of that moment
is not to be imagined. I threw up my hands and endeavored, with all my
strength, to force upward the ponderous iron bar. I might as well have
tried to lift the cathedral itself. Down, down, down it came, closer
and yet closer. I screamed to Pompey for aid; but he said that I had
hurt his feelings by calling him 'an ignorant old squint-eye:' I
yelled to Diana; but she only said 'bow-wow-wow,' and that I had
told her 'on no account to stir from the corner.' Thus I had no relief
to expect from my associates.
Meantime the ponderous and terrific Scythe of Time (for I now
discovered the literal import of that classical phrase) had not
stopped, nor was it likely to stop, in its career. Down and still
down, it came. It had already buried its sharp edge a full inch in
my flesh, and my sensations grew indistinct and confused. At one
time I fancied myself in Philadelphia with the stately Dr. Moneypenny,
at another in the back parlor of Mr. Blackwood receiving his
invaluable instructions. And then again the sweet recollection of
better and earlier times came over me, and I thought of that happy
period when the world was not all a desert, and Pompey not
altogether cruel.
The ticking of the machinery amused me. Amused me, I say, for my
sensations now bordered upon perfect happiness, and the most
trifling circumstances afforded me pleasure. The eternal click-clak,
click-clak, click-clak of the clock was the most melodious of music in
my ears, and occasionally even put me in mind of the graceful sermonic
harangues of Dr.
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