Wrapping himself in his cloak, he lay down upon this and tried to sleep, but could not.

With all his will he closed off the future, and then as best he might the immediately environing present.

After all, these armies--these struggles--these eery ambitions....

The feeling of _out of it_ crept over him.

It was an unfamiliar perception, impermanent.
Yet it might leave a trace to work in the under-consciousness, on a far day to emerge, be revalued and added to.
This December air! Fire would be good--and with that thought he seemed to catch a gleam through the small-paned, small window, and in a moment through the opening door.