The mode and the hour were all that
occupied or distracted me.
My outstretched hands at length encountered some solid
obstruction. It was a wall, seemingly of stone masonry --very
smooth, slimy, and cold. I followed it up; stepping with all the
careful distrust with which certain antique narratives had inspired
me. This process, however, afforded me no means of ascertaining the
dimensions of my dungeon; as I might make its circuit, and return to
the point whence I set out, without being aware of the fact; so
perfectly uniform seemed the wall. I therefore sought the knife
which had been in my pocket, when led into the inquisitorial
chamber; but it was gone; my clothes had been exchanged for a
wrapper of coarse serge. I had thought of forcing the blade in some
minute crevice of the masonry, so as to identify my point of
departure. The difficulty, nevertheless, was but trivial; although, in
the disorder of my fancy, it seemed at first insuperable. I tore a
part of the hem from the robe and placed the fragment at full
length, and at right angles to the wall. In groping my way around
the prison, I could not fail to encounter this rag upon completing the
circuit. So, at least I thought: but I had not counted upon the extent
of the dungeon, or upon my own weakness.
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