It
was lighted with glaring lamps and chandeliers;
and through its grated roof came the sounds of
dancing and laughter and merry music. Up there,
in the world of the live people overhead, there
was some festival, no doubt. Oh, for a place
to hide and sleep; some little place, were it even
a grave! And as he spoke he stumbled over an
open grave. An open grave, smelling of death
and rottenness---- Ah, what matter, so he could
but sleep!
"This grave is mine!" It was Gladys; and she
raised her head and stared at him over the rotting
shroud. Then he knelt down and stretched out
his arms to her.
"Gladys! Gladys! Have a little pity on me;
let me creep into this narrow space and sleep. I
do not ask you for your love; I will not touch you,
will not speak to you; only let me lie down beside
you and sleep! Oh, love, it is so long since I have
slept! I cannot bear another day. The light
glares in upon my soul; the noise is beating my
brain to dust. Gladys, let me come in here and
sleep!"
And he would have drawn her shroud across his
eyes.
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