Explore "The Mystery of Cloomber" by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
It must have been eleven or twelve o'clock before I awoke, and it seemed / to me in the flood of golden light which streamed into my chamber that / the wild, tumultuous episodes of the night before must have formed part / of some fantastic dream.
It was hard to believe that the gentle breeze which whispered so softly / among the ivy-leaves around my window was caused by the same element / which had shaken the very house a few short hours before. It was as if / Nature had repented of her momentary passion and was endeavouring to / make amends to an injured world by its warmth and its sunshine. A chorus / of birds in the garden below filled the whole air with their wonder and / congratulations.