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- 569
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- 2026-01-30T07:57:45.581Z
- extracted_by
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- repose of night and early morning, smothered the sound. At the lurking
inquietude of her companions, my wife was indignant; the more so, as
she seemed to glory in her own exemption from panic. When breakfast was
cleared away she took my watch, and, placing it on the table, addressed
the supposed spirits in it, with a jocosely defiant air:
"There, tick away, let us see who can tick loudest!"
All that day, while abroad, I thought of the mysterious table. Could
Cotton Mather speak true? Were there spirits? And would spirits haunt
a tea-table? Would the Evil One dare show his cloven foot in the bosom
of an innocent family? I shuddered when I thought that I myself,
against the solemn warnings of my daughters, had wilfully introduced
the cloven foot there. Yea, three cloven feet. But, towards noon, this
sort of feeling began to wear off. The continual rubbing against so
many practical people in the street, brushed such chimeras away from
me. I remembered that I had not acquitted myself very intrepidly either
on the previous night or in the morning. I resolved to regain the good
opinion of my wife.
To evince my hardihood the more signally, when tea was dismissed, and
the three rubbers of whist had been played, and no ticking had been
heard--which the more encouraged me--I took my pipe, and, saying that
bed-time had arrived for the rest, drew my chair towards the fire, and,
removing my slippers, placed my feet on the fender, looking as calm and
composed as old Democritus in the tombs of Abdera, when one midnight
the mischievous little boys of the town tried to frighten that sturdy
philosopher with spurious ghosts.
And I thought to myself, that the worthy old gentleman had set a good
example to all times in his conduct on that occasion. For, when at the
dead hour, intent on his studies, he heard the strange sounds, he did
not so much as move his eyes from his page, only simply said: "Boys,
little boys, go home. This is no place for you. You will catch cold
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