Chapter 11

           HowtheensuinghoursbetweenthishorribleepisodeandfullmorningelapsedIdonotknow.Iwasdeadtoallimpressions.Iwokeatlast,orratherrecoveredmysensestoseethesunlightpouringpleasantlythroughthehalf-drawncurtainsatmywindow,andtofindmyselfinbedinasrestfulapositionasthoughIhadneverleftit.WasitthenmerelyavisionIhadseen?aghastlysortofnightmare?Ifso,itwassurelythemostabhorrentillusioneverevolvedfromdreamland!Itcouldnotbeaquestionofhealth,forIhadneverfeltbetterinmylife.Ilayforsometimequiescent,thinkingoverthematter,withmyeyesfixedonthatpartoftheroomwherethoseThreeShapeshadseeminglystood;butIhadlatelygotintosuchahabitofcoolself-analysis,thatbythetimemyvaletbroughtmyearlycupofcoffee,Ihaddecidedthatthewholethingwasadreadfulfantasy,bornofmyownimagination,whichhadnodoubtbeenundulyexcitedbytheaffairofViscountLynton’ssuicide.Isoonlearnedthattherewasnoroomleftfordoubtastothatunhappyyoungnobleman’sactualdeath.Abriefaccountofitwasinthemorningpapers,thoughasthetragedyhadoccurredsolateatnighttherewerenodetails.Avaguehintof‘moneydifficulties’wasthrownoutinonejournalbutbeyondthat,andthestatementthatthebodyhadbeenconveyedtothemortuarytheretoawaitaninquest,therewasnothingsaid,eitherpersonalorparticular.

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