Excerpt from 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. The wheel jerked and came to a standstill and there was the Herr Amtschreiber Felde in his plush covered chair and the grey early morning light peering at him through the cracks in the closed shutters.

He did not move at first. His body ached all over, but he was glad to sit quiet.

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