Letras
I was sick, sick unto death with that long agony; and when they at
Length unbound me, and I was permitted to sit, I thought that my
Senses were leaving me. The sentence, the dread sentence of death
Was the last distinct insinuation which reached my ears. After that
The sound of inquisitorial voices seemed merged in one dreamy
Intermediate hum. It conveyed to me, to my soul, the ardour of
Revolution, perhaps from its association in fancy with the blood of
Mirbeau. This only for a brief period, for presently I heard no more
Yet for a while I saw, with how terrible an exaggeration, I saw
The lips of the black-robed judges. They appeared to me in white
Whiter than the sheet upon which I traced these words, and thin even
To grotesqueness, thin with the intensity of their expression of
Firmness, of immovable resolution, stern contempt of human torture