Once, as he
passed the hospital where Feval died, a faint hint seemed to flash and
vanish from the clouds of his lunacy, and almost identify the dogging
goblin with the figure of his dream; but the conception instantly mixed
with a disconnected remembrance that this was Christmas eve, and then
slipped from him, and was lost. He did not pause there, but strode on.
But just there, what had been frightful became hideous. For at once
he was possessed with the conviction that the thing that lurked at a
distance behind him was quickening its movement, and coming up to seize
him. The dreadful fancy stung him like a goad, and, with a start, he
accelerated his flight, horribly conscious that what he feared was
slinking along in the shadow, close to the dark bulks of the houses,
resolutely pursuing, and bent on overtaking him. Faster! His footfalls
rang hollowly and loud on the moonlit pavement, and in contrast with
their rapid thuds he felt it as something peculiarly terrible that the
furtive thing behind slunk after him with soundless feet.
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