All Monday night, as I lay tossing upon a bed of pain, when fever
was coursing through my veins, and every pulse went plunging like a
steam engine from the gorged heart to every extremity, and my brain
was like molten lead, I heard that terrible bark! It was my evil
genius, my destiny. It mingled in every feverish dream, became the
embodiment of every vision. I measured the periods of its
recurrence by the clock that stands in the corner of our room. I
counted the tickings of its silence, and I counted the tickings of
its continuance. Every swing of the pendulum became a distinct
period of existence.
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