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Du Maurier, George, 1834-1896

"Peter Ibbetson"

Then he read and
summed and translated with his mother till it was time to go up to bed,
and I sat by his bedside as he was lulled asleep by his mother's
harp... how I listened with all my ears and heart, till the sweet strain
ceased for the night! Then out of the hushed house I stole, thinking
unutterable things--through the snow-clad garden, where Medor was baying
the moon--through the silent avenue and park--through the deserted
streets of Passy--and on by desolate quays and bridges to dark quarters
of Paris; till I fell awake in my tracks and found that another dreary
and commonplace day had dawned over London--but no longer dreary and
commonplace for me, with such experiences to look back and forward
to--such a strange inheritance of wonder and delight!
I had a few more occasional failures, such as, for instance, when the
thread between my waking and sleeping life was snapped by a moment's
carelessness, or possibly by some movement of my body in bed, in which
case the vision would suddenly get blurred, the reality of it destroyed,
and an ordinary dream rise in its place. My immediate consciousness of
this was enough to wake me on the spot, and I would begin again, _da
capo_ till all went as I wished.


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