But, as if there were a curse upon him that he should never rest again, his drowsy senses would not lose their consciousness. He had no more influence with them, in this regard, than if they had been another man’s. It was not that they forced him to take note of present sounds and objects, but that they would not be diverted from the whole hurried vision of his journey. It was constantly before him all at once. She stood there, with her dark disdainful eyes again upon him; and he was riding on nevertheless, through town and country, light and darkness, wet weather and dry, over road and pavement, hill and valley, height and hollow, jaded and scared by the monotony of bells and wheels, and horses’ feet, and no rest.
“What day is this?” he asked of the waiter, who was making preparations for his dinner.
“Day, Sir?”
“Is it Wednesday?”
“Wednesday, Sir? No, Sir. Thursday, Sir.”
“I forgot. How goes the time? My watch is unwound.”
“Wants a few minutes of five o’clock, Sir. Been travelling a long time, Sir, perhaps?”
“Yes”
“By rail, Sir?”
“Yes”