I sit up and look at the disused fireplace, lit up by a sunbeam. Is it morning or afternoon? Dust motes fill the room. Something crawls down the chimney and peeks its head out of the fireplace and I awake in a sweat.
Everyone carries a room about inside him. This fact can even be proved by means of the sense of hearing. If someone walks fast and one pricks up one's ears and listens, say in the night, when everything round about is quiet, one hears, for instance, the rattling of a mirror not quite firmly fastened to the wall.
Notes for a fragmentary novel entitled The Moment, linked at the top of the page.
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