Explore "Paul Clifford, Volume VII" by Edward Bulwer-lytton on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Why is it that at moments there creeps over us an awe, a terror, overpowering but undefined? Why is it that we shudder without a cause, and feel the warm life-blood stand still in its courses? Are the dead too near? FALKLAND
Ha! sayest thou! Hideous thought, I feel it twine O'er my iced heart, as curls around his prey The sure and deadly serpent!