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The Daisy Chain or Aspirations

Chapter I.12
"It hath do me mochil woe."
"Yea hath it? Use," quod he, "this medicine;
Every daie this Maie or that thou dine,
Go lokin in upon the freshe daisie,
And though thou be for woe in poinct to die,
That shall full gretly lessen thee of thy pine."
CHAUCER.
That night Norman started from, what was not so much sleep, as a trance of
oppression and suffering, and beheld his father's face watching him
attentively.
"Papa! What's the matter?" said he, starting up. "Is any one ill?"
"No; no one, lie down again," said Dr. May, possessing himself of a hand,
with a burning spot in the palm, and a throbbing pulse.
"But what made you come here? Have I disturbed any one? Have I been
talking?"
"Only mumbling a little, but you looked very uncomfortable."
"But I'm not ill--what are you feeling my pulse for?" said Norman uneasily.
"To see whether that restless sleep has quickened it."
Norman scarcely let his father count for a moment, before he asked, "What
o'clock is it?"
"A little after twelve."
"What does make you stay up so late, papa?"
"I often do when my arm seems likely to keep me awake. Richard has done
all I want."
"Pray don't stay here in the cold," said Norman, with feverish impatience, as
he turned upwards the cool side of his pillow. "Good-night!"
"No hurry," said his father, still watching him.
"There's nothing the matter," repeated the boy.
"Do you often have such unquiet nights?"
 
 
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