When I got up
in the morning my brain seemed as though it would burst with the
intensity of its agony; my throat appeared as if it were on fire; and
in my stomach I experienced a dreadful burning sensation, as if the
fire of the pit had been kindled there. My hands trembled so that to
raise water to my feverish lips was almost impossible. I craved,
literally gasped, for my accustomed stimulant, and felt that I should
die if I did not have it; but I persevered in my resolve, and withstood
the temptations which assailed me on every hand.
Still, during all this frightful time I experienced a feeling somewhat
akin to satisfaction at the position I had taken. I made at least one
step toward reformation. I began to think that it was barely possible
I might see better days, and once more hold up my head in society.
Such feelings as these would alternate with gloomy forebodings and
thick coming fancies of approaching ill. At one time hope, and at
another fear, would predominate, but the raging, dreadful, continued
thirst was always present, to torture and tempt me.
After breakfast I proceeded to the shop where I was employed, feeling
dreadfully ill.
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