CHAPTER X.

June 20.

8.

The sun is shining in a clear sky.

I have not been near my bed.

I have not once closed my weary, wakeful eyes.

From the same window, in which I looked out into the darkness of last night, I look out

now at the bright stillness of the morning.

I count the hours that have passed since I escaped the shelter of this room by my own

sensations, and those hours seem like weeks.

How short a time, and yet how long to me, since I sank down in the darkness here on

the floor, drenched to the skin, cramped in every limb, cold to the bones, a useless, helpless,

panic-stricken creature.

I hardly know when I roused myself.

I hardly know when I groped my way back to the bedroom and lighted the candle, and

searched with a strange ignorance at first of where to look for them for dry clothes

to warm me.

The doing of these things is in my mind, but not the time when they were done.

Can I even remember when the chilled, cramped feeling left me, and the throbbing heat came

in its place?

Surely it was before the sun rose.

Yes, I heard the clock strike three.

...