The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 296: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

262 THE COURT OF LONDON her person, and, moreover, she would be at least enabled to move her limbs somewhat. But not a hair’s breadth could she stir them, not a hair’s breadth could she turn her head either to the right or to the left. And what was more wondrous still, her eyes were wide open, and the lids did not wink. The tetanus was thus complete; but whence did it arise? . Was it from some infernal spell, some diabolical incanta- tion, or was it the forewarning of the awful visitation of God’s wrath upon her? ‘These conjectures were as bewilder- ing as their nature was soul-harrowing; and every instant was laden with thoughts the anguish of which was sufficient to expand throughout a whole century of existence and fill it with an unceasing woe. Again and again did the miserable woman reflect that she was alone in that chamber with the corpse of the mur- dered man; and again and again did she think within her- self that if the same miraculous and incomprehensible power which had reduced her to so helpless a condition of thraldom should inspire that dead body with the motion, the power, and the will to harm or to terrify her, she must lie still and endure that crowning horror, for not a finger could she raise in her defence, not a sound could she articulate to summon assistance. | For the fiftieth time these excruciating reflections passed athwart the milliner’s imagination, as if a long iron wire armed with a myriad little sharp blades were dragged slowly through her brain, cutting its ferocious way amidst the very quick of the vital mass; yes, for the fiftieth time had she endured the crucifixion of those lancinating thoughts, when a church clock proclaimed the hour of three. Thrice spoke the iron tongue of time, and the sound carried the cold sensation of the tomb to the heart of the milliner. She knew not why it was, but the announcement of that hour appeared pregnant with awful omen to the mind of that miserable woman. More dread, more solemn, more sepulchral than before was the stillness which succeeded the striking of the clock; it was the profound tranquillity of the grave, the stupendous silence of the tomb. But, oh, horror! what sound is that which now reaches the ears of Mrs. Brace and carries an ice-bolt to her heart? It is the rustling of a garment, the slight, faint, and scarcely COMicbooolks (C(O)