There was no
comforting her; she cried herself to sleep again.
During the course of the morning, I succeeded in persuading her that
she must have made a mistake, and she consented to smile once more.
In the afternoon the clock struck thirteen again.
This renewed all her fears. She was convinced now that both baby and
I were doomed, and that she would be left a childless widow. I tried
to treat the matter as a joke, and this only made her more wretched.
She said that she could see I really felt as she did, and was only
pretending to be light-hearted for her sake, and she said she would
try and bear it bravely.
The person she chiefly blamed was Buggles.
In the night the clock gave us another warning, and my wife accepted
it for her Aunt Maria, and seemed resigned. She wished, however, that
I had never had the clock, and wondered when, if ever, I should get
cured of my absurd craze for filling the house with tomfoolery.
The next day the clock struck thirteen four times and this cheered her
up. She said that if we were all going to die, it did not so much
matter. Most likely there was a fever or a plague coming, and we
should all be taken together.
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