Shipwreck in Haven, Part Five

after this, the cold more intense, and the night comes rapidly up . angels in the fall . around a tongue of land, free from trees . awakened by feeling a heavy weight on your feet, something that seems inert and motionless . awestruck manner, as though you expected to find some strange presence behind you . coming through the diamond-paned bay window of your sanctum . a crimson-flowered silk dressing gown, the folds of which I could now describe . deathly pallor overspreading . describing the exact nature of your nightly troubles . discomfort at seeing a surface spoiled . echo and foretaste . the entrance blocked, not only by brambles and nettles, which have to be beaten aside, but by piles of faggots, old boxes, and even refuse . expecting every moment to see the door open and give admission to the original of my detested portrait . fantastic wigs, costumes, other disguises . filling up the width of the street . frequent tussles . the glitter of silver and glass and the subdued lights and cackle of conversation around the dinner table . high-backed carved oak chair . I have omitted in my narration . . . . in a great raftered hall . in a tableau vivant, as an angel, sewn up in tights, with wings on your back . light your candle and  open the window . lines of your dress, with a hint of underthings . looking up, our problem still unsolved . luxurious with heavy silk and rich rococo furniture, all of it much soiled with age . many questions about the stars, of which you gave me my first intelligent idea . meanwhile, the snow, with ominous steadiness, and the wind falls . my weakness for the Ypsilanti Waltz, which I did regard as the most wonderful of compositions . neat strip of fine turf edging the road and running back until the poison of the dead beech leaves kills it under the trees . never venturing farther than a sandy beach, but losing everything at sea . not crawling or creeping, but spreading . not just out of repair, but in a condition of decay . only a foul trick after all . on the face of the judge in the picture, a malignant smile . profound impressions of unearthly horror . rambles and adventures among the rocky banks . the rope of the great alarm bell on the roof, which hangs down . rough horseplay and quarrels . sashes that splinter at a touch . the serpentlike form of the seraphim . something uncertain at work among the monuments . the thing on the bed, slowly shifting . till this particular day has passed through all the seasons of the year . the vicar, who used to tell us the story of Robinson Crusoe . waves and their whelps . while with a sickening revulsion after my terror, I drop half fainting across the end of the bed . with a pair of great greenish eyes shining dimly out within the lattice fronts . with painted carvings of saints and devils, a small galvanic battery, and a microscope