I would take my rod and plenty of books, would live simply and frugally, and it should make a new man of me by Christmas.

It was now October.

I went to sleep thinking of autumn tints against an autumn sunset.

It must have been very early, certainly not later than ten o'clock; the previous night I had not slept at all.
Now, this private hotel of mine was a very old fashioned house, dark and dingy all day long, with heavy old chandeliers and black old oak, and dead flowers in broken flower-pots surrounding a grimy grass-plot in the rear.

On this latter my bedroom window looked; and never am I likely to forget the vile music of the cats throughout my first long wakeful night there.