They did not interest me at all, for there appeared to be nothing in me to be interested, as I gathered according to Zikali, because I was not there, but in a warmer place than I hope ever to occupy, namely, in the stone in that unpleasant-looking, little right-hand fire.
So matters went as they might in a dream.

The sun had sunk completely, not even an after-glow was left.

The only light remaining was that from the smouldering fires, which just sufficed to illumine the bulk of Zikali, lying on his side, his squat shape looking like that of a dead hippopotamus calf.

What was left of my consciousness grew heartily sick of the whole affair; I was tired of being so empty.
At length the dwarf stirred.

He sat up, yawned, sneezed, shook himself, and began to rake among the burning embers of my fire with his naked hand.