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           Passingdowntheroomanhourlater.Ireceivedasmartsmackinthefacefromarolled-upballofhardfoolscap.Iturnedroundsharply,butalltheclerkswereapparentlyrivetedtotheirwork.Iamnotarichman,butIwouldgivehalf-a-sovereigntoknowwhetherthatwasthrownbyaccidentordesign.Wenthomeearlyandboughtsomemoreenamelpaint—blackthistime—andspenttheeveningtouchingupthefender,picture-frames,andanoldpairofboots,makingthemlookasgoodasnew.AlsopaintedGowing’swalking-stick,whichheleftbehind,andmadeitlooklikeebony.

           April29,Sunday.—Wokeupwithafearfulheadacheandstrongsymptomsofacold.Carrie,withaperversitywhichisjustlikeher,saiditwas“painter’scolic,”andwastheresultofmyhavingspentthelastfewdayswithmynoseoverapaint-pot.ItoldherfirmlythatIknewagreatdealbetterwhatwasthematterwithmethanshedid.Ihadgotachill,anddecidedtohaveabathashotasIcouldbearit.Bathready—couldscarcelybearitsohot.Ipersevered,andgotin;veryhot,butveryacceptable.Ilaystillforsometime.

           Onmovingmyhandabovethesurfaceofthewater,IexperiencedthegreatestfrightIeverreceivedinthewholecourseofmylife;forimaginemyhorrorondiscoveringmyhand,asIthought,fullofblood.MyfirstthoughtwasthatIhadrupturedanartery,andwasbleedingtodeath,andshouldbediscovered,lateron,lookinglikeasecondMarat,asIrememberseeinghiminMadameTussaud’s