Far from growing accustomed to the Ghost, every succeeding visit inspired me with greater horror.

Her idea pursued me continually, and I became the prey of habitual melancholy.
The constant agitation of my mind naturally retarded the re-establishment of my health.

Several months elapsed before I was able to quit my bed; and when at length I was moved to a Sopha, I was so faint, spiritless, and emaciated, that I could not cross the room without assistance.

The looks of my Attendants sufficiently denoted the little hope, which they entertained of my recovery.

The profound sadness, which oppressed me without remission made the Physician consider me to be an Hypochondriac.