CHAPTER 19I had an indefinable knowledge of the lateness of the hour when I was called from blackness into something blacker still, a knowledge which comes only of a restless life, a life of unexpected wakings. I knew it was late, very late. It was the period of the whole day’s cycle which marks the very depths of time, when everything is quiet with that strange stillness which only comes when time lapses into some unknown dimension, when dreams and death and wakings seem strangely intermingled, so that each is like the other.
I remember a tapping on the door, and the chill darkness of the room as I listened, but I had no sensation of being awake. My head was light. My hands were devoid of any sense of touch. I heard the latch raised. I heard the door creak open, but I had no feeling of a
