Marley’s Ghost bothered him exceedingly. The man had fought bravely by his side against all variety of ghouls and evil spirits. That he might have become one himself seemed incomprehensible. Every time Scrooge resolved within himself, after mature inquiry, that it had been some imposter, his mind flew back again, like a strong spring released, to its first position, and presented the same problem to be worked all through, “Was it truly Marley’s Ghost or not?”
Scrooge lay in this state until the chime had gone three quarters more, when he remembered, on a sudden, that the Ghost had warned him of a visitation when the bell tolled one. He resolved to lie awake until the hour was passed; and, considering that he could no more go to sleep than go to Heaven, this was, perhaps, the wisest resolution in his power.
The quarter was so long, that he was more than once convinced he must have sunk into a doze unconsciously, and missed the clock. At length it broke upon his listening ear.
“A quarter past,” said Scrooge, counting.
“Half past,” said Scrooge.
“A quarter to it,” said Scrooge.
“The hour itself,” said Scrooge triumphantly, “and nothing else!”
He spoke before the hour bell sounded, which it now did with a deep, dull, hollow, melancholy ONE. Light flashed up in the room upon the instant, and the curtains of his bed were drawn.
The curtains of his bed were drawn aside, I tell you, by a hand. Not the curtains at his feet, nor the curtains at his back, but those to which his face was addressed. The curtains of his bed were drawn aside; and Scrooge, starting up into a half-recumbent attitude, found himself face to face with the unearthly visitor who drew them: as close to it as I am now to you, and I am standing in the spirit at your elbow.
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