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of detection never once entered my brain. Of the remains of the fatal
taper I had myself carefully disposed. I had left no shadow of a clew
by which it would be possible to convict, or even to suspect me of the
crime. It is inconceivable how rich a sentiment of satisfaction arose
in my bosom as I reflected upon my absolute security. For a very long
period of time I was accustomed to revel in this sentiment. It afforded
me more real delight than all the mere worldly advantages accruing from
my sin. But there arrived at length an epoch, from which the pleasurable
feeling grew, by scarcely perceptible gradations, into a haunting and
harassing thought. It harassed because it haunted. I could scarcely get
rid of it for an instant. It is quite a common thing to be thus annoyed
with the ringing in our ears, or rather in our memories, of the burthen
of some ordinary song, or some unimpressive snatches from an opera.
Nor will we be the less tormented if the song in itself be good, or
the opera air meritorious. In this manner, at last, I would perpetually
catch myself pondering upon my security, and repeating, in a low
undertone, the phrase, "I am safe."
One day, whilst sauntering along the streets, I arrested myself in the
act of murmuring, half aloud, these customary syllables. In a fit of
petulance, I remodelled them thus; "I am safe--I am safe--yes--if I be
not fool enough to make open confession!"
No sooner had I spoken these words, than I felt an icy chill creep to
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