Then he knew that he was very tired. The mere effort of that one
thought had cost him vitality. He dropped back into
unconsciousness, such as was more insensibility than slumber. He
had strange dreams, of people walking, of women, and of many
voices. It was blurred and indistinct, yet somehow not unreal.
Then, after an unguessable length of time--he awoke.
He was much stronger. The lapse may have been very long; he could
not know. But the pain in his eyes was gone; and he ventured to
open the lids again in the face of the light that had been so
baffling. This time he could see; not distinctly, but still enough
to assure him of reality. By closing his eyes at intervals he was
able to rest them and to accustom them gradually to the new degree
of light. And after a bit he could see plainly.
He was on a cot, and in a room almost totally different from any
that he had ever seen before. The colour of the walls, even, was
dissimilar; likewise the ceiling. It was white, in a way, and yet
unlike it; neither did it resemble any of the various tints; to
give it a name that he afterward learned--alna--implies but
little. It was utterly new to him.
Apparently he was alone. The room was not large; about the size of
an ordinary bedroom. And after the first novelty of the
unplaceable colour had worn off he began to take stock of his own
person.
First, he was covered by the finest of bed clothing, thick but
exceedingly light.
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