All about me was pregnant with motives to astonishment.

My sister's corpse, Wieland's frantic demeanour, and, at length, this crowd of visitants so little accorded with my foresight, that my mental progress was stopped.

The impulse had ceased which was accustomed to give motion and order to my thoughts.
Footsteps thronged upon the stairs, and presently many faces shewed themselves within the door of my apartment.

These looks were full of alarm and watchfulness.

They pryed into corners as if in search of some fugitive; next their gaze was fixed upon me, and betokened all the vehemence of terror and pity.