There is a set form to be gone through, though, and this is but its preface. You get off to sleep quietly enough in the dimmed light and are awakened (crying, I never knew why but the tears and whimpers are invariable) to find some sort of super-fine fishing-line slip: knotted on to one of your toes and being tugged firmly and viciously by someone invisible in the moment of awakening. You sit up—you can't get out of bed so fastened—and grab for the hurt toe, to find the line. you grasp this to take off the strain, while your bed slowly "reels in' towards giggling pullers, still invisible four or five beds away. You hold the line but cannot do much more, and some others, awaiting this moment in the lee of neighbouring beds all in pyjamas and with fantastic turbans made of pillow-caseg and towels surround
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.