Read "The Postmaster of Market Deignton" by E. Phillips Oppenheim online for free on Textopian. Full text with search, annotations, highlights, and AI-powered reading aids.
It is very odd. Last night--was it not last night?--I was in my old room, the bachelor chamber at Gorley Towers, with the roar of the sea lulling me to sleep, and surrounded by all the familiar objects of my boyhood. This morning everything has vanished away as though it were a dream. I am in a strange bedroom--a room of which I have not the faintest recollection, which I am quite sure that I have never been in before. The walls are merely whitewashed, and hung with texts in frames.
The windows have funny little diamond panes, and there is a sill wide enough for two people to sit in. I don't see my bag or my dressing-case, or any of my things, arid--yes, I am most certainly wearing another man's night-clothes, and pretty coarse ones they are, although clean, I am thankful to say. By my side, too, is a table with bottles on it and a wineglass, just as though I had been ill. It can't be a dream, for I am most certainly wide awake. I will get up and see what it means, and who--