Biffen, responding in person to the
summons, found him in bed, waited upon by a gaunt, dry,
sententious woman of sixty--not the landlady, but a lodger who
was glad to earn one meal a day by any means that offered.
'It wouldn't be very nice to die here, would it?' said the
sufferer, with a laugh which was cut short by a cough. 'One would
like a comfortable room, at least. Why, I don't know. I dreamt
last night that I was in a ship that had struck something and was
going down; and it wasn't the thought of death that most
disturbed me, but a horror of being plunged in the icy water. In
fact, I have had just the same feeling on shipboard. I remember
waking up midway between Corfu and Brindisi, on that shaky tub of
a Greek boat; we were rolling a good deal, and I heard a sort of
alarmed rush and shouting up on deck. It was so warm and
comfortable in the berth, and I thought with intolerable horror
of the possibility of sousing into the black depths.'
'Don't talk, my boy,' advised Biffen. 'Let me read you the new
chapter of "Mr Bailey." It may induce a refreshing slumber.
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