"
"You, at least, my sister, have not this to fear, and yet you have
just called this your prison."
"It is a prison, sire."
"And am I, then, your jailer?"
"No, sire, life is my jailer."
"You are right, there, Amelia. Life is the universal jailer, from
whom death alone can release us. The world is a great prison, and
only fools think themselves free. But we are involuntarily
commencing an earnest, philosophical conversation. I come to you to
rest, to refresh myself; to converse harmlessly and cheerfully, as
in our earlier and happier days. Tell me something, dear sister, of
your life, your occupations, and your friends?"
"That is easily done, and requires but few words," said Amelia,
hoarsely. "Of my life I have already told you all that can be said.
Life is my jailer, and I look longingly to death, who alone can
release me. As to my well-being, there is nothing to say; all is
evil, only evil continually. My occupations are monotonous, I am
ever asleep. Night and day I sleep and dream; and why should I
awake? I have nothing to hope, nothing to do. I am a superfluous
piece of furniture in this castle, and I know well you will all
rejoice when I am placed in the vault.
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