There seemed to be a sort of pressure in it which handled them more and more definitely.

The sensation was interesting and acute.

Each gave himself to it, and each had a, perhaps deceptive, consciousness of yielding up something, something impalpable, evanescent, fluent.

Valentine, more especially, felt as if he were pouring away from himself, by this act of sitting, a vital liquid, and he thought with a mental smile: "Am I letting my soul out of its cage, here and now ?" "No doubt," his common sense replied; "no doubt this sensation is the merest fancy." He played with it in the darkness, and had no feeling of weariness.
Nearly an hour had passed in this morose way, when, with, it seemed, appalling abruptness, Rip barked.
Although the bark was half stifled in rug, both Valentine and Julian started perceptibly.
"'Sh!" Valentine hissed to the little dog.

"'Sh! Rip! Quiet!" The response of Rip was, with a violent scramble, to disentangle himself from his covering, emerging from which he again barked with shrill and piercing vehemence, at the same time leaping to the floor.