In an instant I was in a blaze of joy and exultation. I sprang at the
creature, roaring:

"Curse you, I have wished a hundred million times that you were tangible,
and that I could get my hands on your throat once! Oh, but I will wreak
a deadly vengeance on--"

Folly! Lightning does not move more quickly than my Conscience did!
He darted aloft so suddenly that in the moment my fingers clutched the
empty air he was already perched on the top of the high bookcase, with
his thumb at his nose in token of derision. I flung the poker at him,
and missed. I fired the bootjack. In a blind rage I flew from place to
place, and snatched and hurled any missile that came handy; the storm of
books, inkstands, and chunks of coal gloomed the air and beat about the
manikin's perch relentlessly, but all to no purpose; the nimble figure
dodged every shot; and not only that, but burst into a cackle of
sarcastic and triumphant laughter as I sat down exhausted. While I
puffed and gasped with fatigue and excitement, my Conscience talked to
this effect:

"My good slave, you are curiously witless--no, I mean characteristically
so. In truth, you are always consistent, always yourself, always an ass.
Other wise it must have occurred to you that if you attempted this murder
with a sad heart and a heavy conscience, I would droop under the
burdening in influence instantly. Fool, I should have weighed a ton, and
could not have budged from the floor; but instead, you are so cheerfully
anxious to kill me that your conscience is as light as a feather; hence I
am away up here out of your reach. I can almost respect a mere ordinary
sort of fool; but you pah!"