ched to the skin, cramped in every
limb, cold to the bones, a useless, helpless, panic-stricken creature.

I hardly know when I roused myself. I hardly know when I groped my way
back to the bedroom, and lighted the candle, and searched (with a
strange ignorance, at first, of where to look for them) for dry clothes
to warm me. The doing of these things is in my mind, but not the time
when they were done.

Can I even remember when the chilled, cramped feeling left me, and the
throbbing heat came in its place?

Surely it was before the sun rose? Yes, I heard the clock strike three.
I remember the time by the sudden brightness and clearness, the
feverish strain and excitement of all my faculties which came with it.
I remember my resolution to control myself, to wait patiently hour
after hour, till the chance offered of removing Laura from this
horrible place, without the danger of immediate discovery and pursuit.
I remember the persuasion settling itself in my mind that the words
those two men had said to each other would furnish us, not only with
our justification for leaving the house, but with our weapons of
defence against them as well. I recall the impulse that awakened in me
to preserve those words in writing, exactly as they were spoken, while
the time was my own, and while my memory vividly retained them. All
this I remember plainly: there is no confusion in my head yet. The
coming in here from the bedroom, with my pen and ink and paper, before
sunrise--the sitting down at the widely-opened window to get all the
air I could to cool me--the ceaseless writing, faster and faster,
hotter and hotter, driving on more and more wakefully, all through the
dreadful interval before the house was astir again--how clearly I
recall it, from the beginning by candle-light, to the end on the page
before this, in the sunshine of the new day!

Why do I sit here still? Why do I weary my hot eyes and my burning head
by writing more? Why not lie down and rest myself, and try to quench
the fever that consumes me, in sleep?

I dare not attempt it. A fear beyond all other fears has got
possession of me. I am afraid of this heat that parches my skin. I am
afraid of the creeping and throbbing that I feel in my head. If I lie
down now, how do I know that I may have the sense and the strength to
rise again?

Oh, the rain, the rain--the cruel rain that chilled me last night!

Nine o'clock. Was it nine struck, or eight? Nine, sure