Pride, contempt, defiance, stubbornness, submission, lamentation,
succeeded one another; so did varieties of sunken cheek, cadaverous
colour, emaciated hands and figures. But the face was in the main
one face, and every head was prematurely white. A hundred times the
dozing passenger inquired of this spectre:
"Buried how long?"
The answer was always the same: "Almost eighteen years."
"You had abandoned all hope of being dug out?"
"Long ago."
"You know that you are recalled to life?"
"They tell me so."
"I hope you care to live?"
"I can't say."
"Shall I show her to you? Will you come and see her?"
The answers to this question were various and contradictory.
Sometimes the broken reply was, "Wait! It would kill me if I saw
her too soon." Sometimes, it was given in a tender rain of tears,
and then it was, "Take me to her." Sometimes it was staring and
bewildered, and then it was, "I don't know her. I don't understand."
After such imaginary discourse, the passenger in his fancy would dig,
and dig, dig--now with a spade, now with a great key, now with his
hands--to dig this wretched creature out.
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