“Then you keep his body till the natural period of your own death.”
“Suppose I die?”
“He then keeps your body.”
“Then, if he dies, my body is buried and goes to decay, while I am clogged up in his body, till relieved from it by death?”
“Precisely.”
This announcement struck me with terror. “And shall I never,” said I, weeping, “see my dear body again?”
“You may see it, if ever Wolstang comes in your way.”
“But shall I never possess it—shall I never be myself again?”
“Not unless he pleases.”
“The villain!” exclaimed I, in an agony of grief; “I am then undone—the tool of a heartless unprincipled miscreant. Is my case hopeless?”