"If you suffer
your frenzy to run away with your judgment in this manner, I will
leave the house. What do you mean? I tell you, there is nothing
ails me: I never was better."
She screamed, and ran between me and the door, to bar my
retreat: in the meantime my reverend father entered, and I have
not forgot how he gazed, through his glasses, first at my mother,
and then at me. I imagined that his eyes burnt like candles, and
was afraid of him, which I suppose made my looks more unstable
than they would otherwise have been.
"What is all this for?" said he. "Mistress! Robert! What is the
matter here?"
"Oh, sir, our boy!" cried my mother; "our dear boy, Mr.
Wringhim! Look at him, and speak to him: he is either dying or
translated, sir!"
He looked at me with a countenance of great alarm; mumbling
some sentences to himself, and then taking me by the arm, as if to
feel my pulse, he said, with a faltering voice: "Something has
indeed befallen you, either in body or mind, boy, for you are
transformed, since the morning, that I could not have known you
for the same person. Have you met with any accident?"
"No.
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