Her head lay on her arms, and they rested on
the table. Every now and then she opened her eyes, and saw the
large room, handsomely furnished with articles that were each one
incongruous with the other, as if bought at sales. She saw the
flickering night-light--she heard the ticking of the watch, and
the two breathings, each going on at a separate rate--one
hurried, abruptly stopping, and then panting violently, as if to
make up for lost time; and the other slow, steady, and regular,
as if the breather was asleep; but this supposition was
contradicted by an occasional repressed sound of yawning. The sky
through the uncurtained window looked dark and black--would this
night never have an end? Had the sun gone down for ever, and
would the world at last awaken to a general sense of everlasting
night?
Then she felt as if she ought to get up, and go and see how the
troubled sleeper in yonder bed was struggling through his
illness; but she could not remember who the sleeper was, and she
shrunk from seeing some phantom-face on the pillow, such as now
began to haunt the dark corners of the room, and look at her,
jibbering and mowing as they looked. So she covered her face
again, and sank into a whirling stupor of sense and feeling.
By-and-by she heard her fellow-watcher stirring, and a dull
wonder stole over her as to what he was doing; but the heavy
languor pressed her down, and kept her still.
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