The hotel grew
quiet; a watchman went down the hall turning out each alternate gas jet.
Just outside of the door was a burner in a red globe, fixed at a stair
landing to show the exit in case of fire. This burned all night and it
streamed through the transom of Vandover's room, splotching the ceiling
with a great square of red light. Vandover was in a torment, overcome
now by that same fear with which he had at last become so familiar, the
unreasoning terror of something unknown. He uttered an exclamation, a
suppressed cry of despair, of misery, and then suddenly checked himself,
astonished, seized with the fancy that his cry was not human, was not of
himself, but of something four-footed, the snarl of some exasperated
brute. He paused abruptly in his walk, listening, for what he did not
know. The silence of the great city spread itself around him, like the
still waters of some vast lagoon. Through the silence he heard the noise
of the throng of college youths. They were returning, doubling upon
their line of march. A long puff of tepid air breathing through the open
window brought to his ears the distant joyous sound of their slogan:
"Rah, rah, rah! Rah, rah, rah!"
They passed by along the adjacent street, their sounds growing faint.
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