It was night, and he said to himself:
"Here, at last, I shall find a quiet place to sleep."
But when he chose a dark room and lay down,
someone came in with a lamp, flashing the merciless
light into his eyes, and said: "Get up; you are wanted."
He rose and wandered on, staggering and stumbling
like a creature wounded to death; and heard
the clocks strike one, and knew that half the night
was gone already--the precious night that was so
short. Two, three, four, five--by six o'clock the
whole town would wake up and there would be
no more silence.
He went into another room and would have lain
down on a bed, but someone started up from the
pillows, crying out: "This bed is mine!" and he
shrank away with despair in his heart.
Hour after hour struck, and still he wandered
on and on, from room to room, from house to
house, from corridor to corridor. The horrible
gray dawn was creeping near and nearer; the
clocks were striking five; the night was gone and
he had found no rest. Oh, misery! Another day
--another day!
He was in a long, subterranean corridor, a low,
vaulted passage that seemed to have no end.
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