Chapter 9
Nothing is more painful to the human mind than, after the
feelings have been worked up by a quick succession of events, the
dead calmness of inaction and certainty which follows and deprives
the soul both of hope and fear. Justine died, she rested, and I was
alive. The blood flowed freely in my veins, but a weight of despair
and remorse pressed on my heart which nothing could remove. Sleep
fled from my eyes; I wandered like an evil spirit, for I had
committed deeds of mischief beyond description horrible, and more,
much more (I persuaded myself) was yet behind. Yet my heart
overflowed with kindness and the love of virtue. I had begun life
with benevolent intentions and thirsted for the moment when I
should put them in practice and make myself useful to my fellow
bein
