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That no inhabitant should have opened a lattice may appear surprising.
Nevertheless that silence is in a great measure to be explained. We must
remember that in January 1790 they were just over a somewhat severe
outbreak of the plague in London, and that the fear of receiving sick
vagabonds caused a diminution of hospitality everywhere. People would
not even open their windows for fear of inhaling the poison.
The child felt the coldness of men more terribly than the coldness of
night. The coldness of men is intentional. He felt a tightening on his
sinking heart which he had not known on the open plains. Now he had
entered into the midst of life, and remained alone. This was the summit
of misery. The pitiless desert he had understood; the unrelenting town
was too much to bear.
The hour, the strokes of which he had just counted, had been another
blow. Nothing is so freezing in certain situations as the voice of the
hour. It is a declaration of indifference. It is Eternity saying, "What
does it matter to me?"
He stopped, and it is not certain that, in that miserable minute, he did
not ask himself whether it would not be easier to lie down there and
die. However, the little infant leaned her head against his shoulder,
and fell asleep again.
This blind confidence set him onwards again. He whom all supports were
failing felt that he was himself a basis of support. Irresistible
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