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Yazar: Charles Dickens

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The leprosy of unreality disfigured every human creature in
attendance upon Monseigneur. In the outermost room were half a
dozen exceptional people who had had, for a few years, some vague
misgiving in them that things in general were going rather wrong.
As a promising way of setting them right, half of the half-dozen
had become members of a fantastic sect of Convulsionists, and
were even then considering within themselves whether they should
foam, rage, roar, and turn cataleptic on the spot--thereby
setting up a highly intelligible finger-post to the Future, for
Monseigneur's guidance.

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