There stood the
window-bars, untouched, strong and firm as ever.
And there was ten striking from the clock-tower
in the distance. He must get to work.
He looked through the spy-hole, and, seeing
that no one was watching, took one of the files
from his breast.
. . . . .
No, there was nothing the matter with him--
nothing! It was all imagination. The pain in
his side was indigestion, or a chill, or some such
thing; not much wonder, after three weeks of
this insufferable prison food and air. As for the
aching and throbbing all over, it was partly nervous
trouble and partly want of exercise. Yes,
that was it, no doubt; want of exercise. How
absurd not to have thought of that before!
He would sit down a little bit, though, and let
it pass before he got to work. It would be sure
to go over in a minute or two.
To sit still was worse than all. When he sat
still he was at its mercy, and his face grew gray
with fear. No, he must get up and set to work,
and shake it off.
Pages:
421
422
423
424
425
426
427
428
429
430
431
432
433
434
435
436
437
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445