By
degrees all those who surrounded me had got accustomed to consider me an
invalid and to see me sickly. So much so that I myself had forbidden my
wife to call in a doctor when I had taken to my bed on the day of our
arrival at the cheap lodginghouse of the Rue Dauphine in Paris. A little
rest would soon set me right again; it was only the fatigue of the
journey which had caused my intolerable weariness. And yet I was
conscious of having felt singularly uneasy. We had left our province
somewhat abruptly; we were very poor and had barely enough money to
support ourselves till I drew my first month's salary in the office
where I had obtained a situation. And now a sudden seizure was carrying
me off!
Was it really death? I had pictured to myself a darker night, a deeper
silence. As a little child I had already felt afraid to die. Being weak
and compassionately petted by everyone, I had concluded that I had not
long to live, that I should soon be buried, and the thought of the cold
earth filled me with a dread I could not master--a dread which haunted
me day and night. As I grew older the same terror pursued me. Sometimes,
after long hours spent in reasoning with myself, I thought that I had
conquered my fear.
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