Still rereading House of Leaves, my progress has been somewhat hindered by Hard Times, A Tale of two Cities, and Ovid's Metamorphoses.
I can imagine that my heart is pumping at an alarming rate. Not just that, but I can hear its muted, choking gulps; the convulsions that wrack it; and I feel the sensation of it tearing its sinuous self apart, raging against the bars of my ribcage, struggling to distend itself and be free of the bones.
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