...
II
That Thursday was March 15. I was conscious of my existence again on
Sunday, April 1st. I opened my eyes and saw that there was a thaw. That
was the first thing of which I was aware--that water was apparently
dripping on every side of me. It is a strange sensation to lie on your
bed very weak, and very indifferent, and to feel the world turning to
moisture all about you.... My ramshackle habitation had never been a
very strong defence against the outside world. It seemed now to have
definitely decided to abandon the struggle. The water streamed down the
panes of my window opposite my bed. One patch of my ceiling (just above
my only bookcase, confound it!) was coloured a mouldy grey, and from
this huge drops like elephant's tears, splashed monotonously. (Already
_The Spirit of Man_ was disfigured by a long grey streak, and the green
back of Galleon's _Roads_ was splotched with stains.) Some one had
placed a bucket near the door to catch a perpetual stream flowing from
the corner of the room. Down into the bucket it pattered with a hasty,
giggling, hysterical jiggle. I rather liked the companionship of it.
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