The post of honour and the post of shame, the

general's station and the drummer's, a peer's statue in Westminster

Abbey and a seaman's hammock in the bosom of the deep, the mitre and

the workhouse, the woolsack and the gallows, the throne and the

guillotine--the travellers to all are on the great high road, but it

has wonderful divergencies, and only Time shall show us whither each

traveller is bound.

On a wintry afternoon at twilight, Mrs Flintwinch, having been heavy all

day, dreamed this dream: She thought she was in the kitchen getting the kettle ready for tea, and

was warming herself with her feet upon the fender and the skirt of her

gown tucked up, before the collapsed fire in the middle of the grate,

bordered on either hand by a deep cold black ravine. She thought that

as she sat thus, musing upon the question whether life was not for some

people a rather dull invention, she was frightened by a sudden noise

behind her. She thought that she had been similarly frightened once last

week, and that the noise was of a mysterious kind--a sound of rustling

and of three or four quick beats like a rapid step; while a shock or

tremble was communicated to her heart, as if the step had shaken the

floor, or even as if she had been touched by some awful hand. She

thought that this revived within her certain old fears of hers that

the house was haunted; and that she flew up the kitchen stairs without

knowing how she got up, to be nearer company.

Mistress Affery thought that on reaching the hall, she saw the door of

her liege lord's office standing open, and the room empty. That she went

to the ripped-up window in the little room by the street door to connect

her palpitating heart, through the glass, with living things beyond

and outside the haunted house. That she then saw, on the wall over the

gateway, the shadows of the two clever ones in conversation above. That

she then went upstairs with her shoes in her hand, partly to be near

the clever ones as a match for most ghosts, and partly to hear what they

were talking about. 'None of your nonsense with me,' said Mr Flintwinch. 'I won't take it

from you.' Mrs Flintwinch dreamed that she stood behind the door, which was just

ajar, and most distinctly heard her husband say these bold words. '

Flintwinch,' returned Mrs Clennam, in her usual strong low voice,

'there is a demon of anger in you. Guard against it.'




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