Towards Morning

HE awoke violently. In the very midst of his dream he had been shot out of a cannon's mouth straight into consciousness. Yet for a moment he could not remember where he was. He seemed to be clinging to the outer edge of a monster wheel which whirled him through darkness till his brain went sick and giddy. Half-remembered landmarks flew past him. He clutched at them, trying to stay his mad flight. But they slipped through his fingers. The pace was at first too frightful his clutch too feeble. But gradually the wheel began to revolve more quietly. The landmarks settled in their accustomed places. He clung to one of them it was the big majolica stove just opposite and this time his grip held.