At times ... I grew sick, and numb, and chilly, and dizzy, and so fell prostrate at once. Then, for weeks, all was void, and black, and silent, and Nothing became the universe. Total annihilation could be no more. From these . . . attacks I awoke, however . . . Just as the day dawns to the friendless and houseless beggar who roams the streets throughout the long desolate winter nightjust so tardilyjust so wearilyjust so cheerily came back the light of the Soul to me.
Poe's The Premature Burial
Bhopalchand Lodha was a...
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