I woke up with a fearful headache and strong symptoms of a cold. Carrie, with a perversity which is just like her, said it was "painter's colic," and was the result of my having spent the last few days with my nose over a paint-pot. I told her firmly that I knew a great deal better what was the mater with me than she did. I had got a chill, and decided to have a bath as hot as I could bear it. Bath ready-could scarcely bear it so hot. I persevered, and got in; very hot, but very acceptable. I lay still for some time.
On moving my hand avove the surface of the water, I experienced the greatest fright I ever received in the whole course of my life; for imagine my horrr on discovering my hand, as I thought, full of blood. My first thought was that I had rupturd an artery, and was bleeding to death, and should be discovered, later on, looking lie a second Marat, as I remember seeing his in Madame Tussaud's. My second thought was to right the bell, but remembered there was no bell to ring. My thired was, that tere was nothing but the ename paint, which had dissolved with boiling water. I steeped out of the bath, perfectly red all over, resembling the Red indians I have seen depicted at an East-End theatre. I determined not to say a word to Carrie, but to tell Farmerson to come on Monday and paint the bath white.
没有评论:
发表评论