A dim cloud of sensation taking shape, a cloudy
dreariness, and he found himself vaguely somewhere,
recumbent, faint, but alive.

The pilgrimage towards a personal being seemed to
traverse vast gulfs, to occupy epochs. Gigantic


dreams that were terrible realities at the time, left
vague perplexing memories, strange creatures, strange
scenery, as if from another planet. There was a distinct
impression, too, of a momentous conversation, of
a name -- he could not tell what name -- that was
subsequently to recur, of some queer long-forgotten
sensation of vein and muscle, of a feeling of vast
hopeless effort, the effort of a man near drowning in
darkness. Then came a panorama of dazzling unstable
confluent scenes.

Graham became aware his eyes were open and regarding
some unfamiliar thing.

It was something white, the edge of something, a
frame of wood. He moved his head slightly, following
the contour of this shape. It went up beyond the
top of his eyes. He tried to think where he might be.
Did it matter, seeing he was so wretched? The colour
of his thoughts was a dark depression. He felt the
featureless misery of one who wakes towards the hour
of dawn. He had an uncertain sense of whispers and