The week's reprieve has ended; my Judgment Day has come.

Never, never, surely, did seven days race so madly past, tumbling over each other's heels.

Even Sunday--Sunday, which mostly contains at least forty-eight hours--has gone like a flash.

Morning service, afternoon service, good looks, sermon to the servants, supper, they all run into one another like dissolving views.

For the first time in my life, my sleep is broken.