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Chapter 33
Andyet,Icannotcontinueinthiscondition!Ihavetoremindmyselftobreathe—almosttoremindmyhearttobeat!Anditislikebendingbackastiffspring:itisbycompulsionthatIdotheslightestactnotpromptedbyonethought;andbycompulsionthatInoticeanythingaliveordead,whichisnotassociatedwithoneuniversalidea.Ihaveasinglewish,andmywholebeingandfacultiesareyearningtoattainit.Theyhaveyearnedtowardsitsolong,andsounwaveringly,thatI’mconvinceditwillbereached—andsoon—becauseithasdevouredmyexistence:Iamswallowedupintheanticipationofitsfulfillment.Myconfessionshavenotrelievedme;buttheymayaccountforsomeotherwiseunaccountablephasesofhumourwhichIshow.OGod!Itisalongfight,Iwishitwereover!"
Hebegantopacetheroom,mutteringterriblethingstohimself,tillIwasinclinedtobelieve,ashesaidJosephdid,thatconsciencehadturnedhishearttoanearthlyhell.Iwonderedgreatlyhowitwouldend.Thoughheseldombeforehadrevealedthisstateofmind,evenbylooks,itwashishabitualmood,Ihadnodoubt:heassertedithimself;butnotasoul,fromhisgeneralbearing,wouldhaveconjecturedthefact.Youdidnotwhenyousawhim,Mr.Lockwood:andattheperiodofwhichIspeakhewasjustthesameasthen;onlyfonderofcontinuedsolitude,andperhapsstillmorelaconicincompany.