" He stopped and drew a deep breath. The night
seemed immense and hospitable, and although so dark there seemed to
be things moving down there in the harbour and movement out at sea.
He gazed until the darkness numbed him, and then he walked on quickly,
still murmuring to himself. "And I ought to be in bed, snoring
and dreaming, dreaming, dreaming. Dreams and realities, dreams and
realities, dreams and realities," he repeated all the way up the avenue,
scarcely knowing what he said, until he reached the front door. Here he
paused for a second, and collected himself before he opened the door.
His eyes were dazed, his hands very cold, and his brain excited and yet
half asleep. Inside the door everything was as he had left it except
that the hall was now empty. There were the chairs turning in towards
each other where people had sat talking, and the empty glasses on little
tables, and the newspapers scattered on the floor. As he shut the door
he felt as if he were enclosed in a square box, and instantly shrivelled
up. It was all very bright and very small. He stopped for a minute by
the long table to find a paper which he had meant to read, but he was
still too much under the influence of the dark and the fresh air to
consider carefully which paper it was or where he had seen it.
As he fumbled vaguely among the papers he saw a figure cross the tail of
his eye, coming downstairs.
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