Half an hour from now,
when I shall again and forever reindue that hated personality, I know
how I shall sit shuddering and weeping in my chair, or continue, with
the most strained and fearstruck ecstasy of listening, to pace up and
down this room (my last earthly refuge) and give ear to every sound of
menace. Will Hyde die upon the scaffold? or will he find courage to
release himself at the last moment? God knows; I am careless; this is
my true hour of death, and what is to follow concerns another than
myself. Here then, as I lay down the pen and proceed to seal up my