the hour
of ten
At any rate I felt that I must obey and thrust my head forward into the smoke , as a green ham is thrust into a chimney . The warm vapour struck against my face like fog , or rather steam , but without causing me to choke or my eyes to smart . I drew it down my throat with a deep inhalation -- once , twice , thrice , then as my brain began to swim , threw myself back as I had been instructed to do . A deep and happy drowsiness stole over me , and the last thing I remember was hearing the clock strike the first two strokes of the hour of ten . The third stroke I heard also , but it sounded like to that of the richest-throated bell that ever boomed in all the world . I remember becoming aware that it was the signal for the rolling up of some vast proscenium , revealing behind it a stage that was the world -- nothing less . What did I see ?