his leg. He tumbled in, rolled over on his back, and flung one arm
across his eyes. And then, with his face nearly hidden, he must
have looked exactly as I used to look in that bed. I gazed upon my
other self for a while before drawing across carefully the two
green serge curtains which ran on a brass rod. I thought for a
moment of pinning them together for greater safety, but I sat down
on the couch, and once there I felt unwilling to rise and hunt for
a pin. I would do it in a moment. I was extremely tired, in a
peculiarly intimate way, by the strain of stealthiness, by the
effort of whispering and the general secrecy of this excitement.
It was three o'clock by now and I had been on my feet since nine,
but I was not sleepy; I could not have gone to sleep. I sat there,
fagged out, looking at the curtains, trying to clear my mind of the
confused sensation of being in two places at once, and greatly
bothered by an exasperating knocking in my head. It was a relief
to discover suddenly that it was not in my head at all, but on the
outside of the door. Before I could collect myself the words "Come
in" were out of my mouth, and the steward entered with a tray,
bringing in my morning coffee. I had slept, after all, and I was
so frightened that I shouted, "This way! I am here, steward," as
though he had been miles away. He put down the tray on the table
next the couch and only then said, very quietly, "I can see you are
here, sir." I felt him give me a keen look, but I dared not meet
his eyes just then. He must have wondered why I had drawn the
curtains of my bed before going to sleep on the couch. He went
out, hooking the door open as usual.

I heard the crew washing decks above me. I knew I would have been
told at once if there had been any wind. Calm, I thought, and I
was doubly vexed. Indeed, I felt dual more than ever. The steward