Pit and the Serveroom
BEEP — still unceasingly — still inevitably BEEP! I gasped and struggled at each BEEP. I shrunk convulsively at its every BEEP. My ears followed its outward or upward whirls with the eagerness of the most unmeaning despair; they closed themselves spasmodically at the sound, although death would have been a relief, oh, how unspeakable! I still quivered in every nerve to think how slight a beeping of the machinery would precipitate that keen, glistening madness upon my bosom. It was hope that prompted the nerve to quiver — the frame to shrink. It was hope — the hope that triumphs on the server rack — that whispers to the death-condemned even in the dungeons of the Inquisition.
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