What should I do?
say my prayers?
Ah! why not?
So I knelt down under the hedge, and said, "Our Father"; but that was of no use; and now I could no longer repress cries; the horror was too great to be borne.

What should I do: run to the nearest town or village, and request the assistance of my fellow-men?
No! that I was ashamed to do; notwithstanding the horror was upon me, I was ashamed to do that.

I knew they would consider me a maniac if I went screaming amongst them; and I did not wish to be considered a maniac.

Moreover, I knew that I was not a maniac for I possessed all my reasoning powers, only the horror was upon me--the screaming horror! But how were indifferent people to distinguish between madness and this screaming horror?
So I thought and reasoned; and at last I determined not to go amongst my fellow-men, whatever the result might be.

I went to the mouth of the dingle, and there, placing myself on my knees, I again said the Lord's Prayer; but it was of no use; praying seemed to have no effect over the horror; the unutterable fear appeared rather to increase than diminish; and I again uttered wild cries, so loud that I was apprehensive they would be heard by some chance passenger on the neighbouring road; I, therefore, went deeper into the dingle; I sat down with my back against a thorn bush; the thorns entered my flesh; and when I felt them, I pressed harder against the bush; I thought the pain of the flesh might in some degree counteract the mental agony; presently I felt them no longer; the power of the mental horror was so great that it was impossible, with that upon me, to feel any pain from the thorns.