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Pagina 830 van 896

Auteur: Charles Dickens

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But, it beckoned him back in his sleep, and showed itself in
shining forms. Free and happy, back in the old house in Soho
(though it had nothing in it like the real house), unaccountably
released and light of heart, he was with Lucie again, and she
told him it was all a dream, and he had never gone away. A pause
of forgetfulness, and then he had even suffered, and had come
back to her, dead and at peace, and yet there was no difference
in him. Another pause of oblivion, and he awoke in the sombre
morning, unconscious where he was or what had happened, until it
flashed upon his mind, "this is the day of my death!"
Thus, had he come through the hours, to the day when the
fifty-two heads were to fall. And now, while he was composed, and
hoped that he could meet the end with quiet heroism, a new action
began in his waking thoughts, which was very difficult to master.

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