the late mr elvesham wiki
"The very thing," he said, and faced this way and then that. . It was no good. Perhaps if I waited a little, things would be clearer to me again. "Look here!" "But why me in particular?" The landing was a spacious one, a broad, richly-carpeted staircase went down into the darkness of the hall below, and before me a door ajar showed me a writing-desk, a revolving bookcase, the back of a study chair, and a fine array of bound books, shelf upon shelf. With trembling hands outstretched, I walked slowly towards the window, getting, nevertheless, a bruise on the knee from a chair by the way. It was none the less horrible because I had already dimly feared as much. Now the blind was up, faint spectres of its furnishing came out of the darkness. I had forgotten the number of your house. "All ri'!" "What a career such a man might have!" He had chanced to hear of me from Professor Haslar, he said, as a typically sound and sane young man, and he wished, as far as possible, to leave his money where health and integrity were assured. . There the narrative found upon Mr. Elvesham's desk ends. As I was walking up Regent Street I found in my mind a queer persuasion that it was Waterloo station, and had an odd impulse to get into the Polytechnic as a man might get into a train. Waterloo! He had already seemed physically weak and pitiful to me, but seen now, dressed only in a coarse flannel nightdress that fell apart and showed the stringy neck, seen now as my own body, I cannot describe its desolate decrepitude. She stared, I think, at the expression of my face. "Surely," I said, in that horrible voice that had somehow established itself in my throat, "surely this thing is a dream!" He proceeded to enlarge on his loneliness, and the trouble he had to find a proper disposition of his money. Was I indeed Elvesham, and he me? He smiled again. Written by I waved my hand in the darkness, and it came against some heavy hanging, soft and thick in texture, which gave a rustling noise at my touch. The draught, the mental confusion, the noise and stirring in my head, seemed to last an interminable time. And yet it was not so real after all. I said, "How the devil did I get here?" Twenty-four hours before, he had been knocked down by a cab and killed instantly, at the crowded crossing at the intersection of Gower Street and Euston Road. . Confused, troubled thinking is comprehensible enough after the drink I had taken, but what puzzled me were these curiously vivid phantasm memories that had crept into my mind, and not only the memories that had crept in, but also the memories that had slipped out. don @ minifie-1. This page was last edited on 4 April 2020, at 14:15. I fumbled round the glass, which was large, with handsome brass sconces, to find the blind-cord. The Nightmare Worlds of H. G. Wells is a 2016 horror-fantasy television miniseries, based on short stories by H. G. Wells. I threw back the bedclothes, and, shivering with the rawness of the early morning, albeit it was summer-time, I got out and lit the candle. I grasped this and pulled it; it appeared to be a curtain suspended over the head of my bed. Elvesham was, of course, a profound student of mental science, and all my declarations of the facts of the case merely confirm the theory that my insanity is the outcome of overmuch brooding upon psychology. With Camilla Beeput, Graham Duff, Michael Gambon, Paul Putner. A curious weariness asserted itself. By the side of my bed should be the candle, and the matches upon the broken chair. I said, and stared about me. The story was written in pencil, and in a crazy hand, quite unlike his usual minute characters. I stood up, and was surprised by a curious feeling of weakness and unsteadiness. I tottered to the mantel, and felt along it for matches. Sniffing and coughing, whimpering a little, perhaps, I fumbled back to bed. Then my perception grew clear and minute as though I saw things in a concave mirror. Here is a scrap of my unpublished wisdom." I used this little room both to live in and sleep in, because I was anxious to eke out my means to the very last shillingsworth. I turned into University Street, to discover that I had forgotten my number. He opened the packet with his shaking yellow fingers, and showed a little pinkish powder on the paper. I stopped opposite Stevens', the natural history dealer's, and cudgelled my brains to think what he had to do with me. It will clear your head. The hollow cheeks, the straggling tail of dirty grey hair, the rheumy bleared eyes, the quivering, shrivelled lips, the lower displaying a gleam of the pink interior lining, and those horrible dark gums showing. Just at the edge of the sky, the cloud-canopy had a blood-red rim. I felt beyond all question that I was indeed Eden, not Elvesham. I awoke abruptly out of a dream of strange beasts, and found myself lying on my back. A 'bus went by, and sounded exactly like the rumbling of a train. "It is surely a dream," I whimpered to myself as I clambered back, "surely a dream." I was disconcerted at first by the well-dressed waiter's glances at my rough clothes, bothered by the stones of the olives, but as the champagne warmed my blood, my confidence revived. I cried in my piping voice. It was so unfamiliar that for the moment I thought myself still dreaming. It seems that Elvesham kept the name of his solicitor secret from all his household—I can ascertain nothing. In another moment I was wishing him good-bye, over the apron of a cab, and still with an absurd feeling of minute distinctness, as though—how can I express it?—I not only saw but felt through an inverted opera-glass.

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