But at last he roused himself a little, and leaning forward, put his
hand out and up, to take the glass from the shelf. He wished to hold
it, to touch it and look into it. As he lifted it towards him, it fell
open, the mirror proper being fastened to a leather back, which was
glued to the ivory, and formed a hinge. It fell open; and his grasp
had been insecure; and the jerk as it opened was enough. It slipped
from his fingers, and dropped with a crash upon the hearthstone.
The sound went through him like a physical pain. He sank back in his
chair, and closed his eyes. His heart was beating as after a mighty
physical exertion. He knew vaguely that a calamity had befallen him;
he could vaguely imagine the splinters of shattered glass at his feet.
But his physical prostration was so great as to obliterate, to
neutralise, emotion. He felt very cold. He felt that he was being
hurried along with terrible speed through darkness and cold air. There
was the continuous roar of rapid motion in his ears, a faint, dizzy
bewilderment in his head. He felt that he was trying to catch hold of
things, to stop his progress, but his hands closed upon emptiness;
that he was trying to call out for help, but he could make no sound.
On--on--on, he was being whirled through some immeasurable abyss of
space.
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