The house at X---- indeed was fantastic enough.

I feel that I am in danger of giving too many descriptions of our various halting-places.

For the most part they largely resembled one another, large deserted country houses with broken windows, bare walls and floors, a tangled garden and a tattered collection of books in the Polish language.

But this building at X---- was like no other of our asylums.
It was a huge place, a strange combination of the local town-hall and the local theatre.

It was the theatre that at that early hour in the morning seemed to our weary eyes so fantastic.