Explore "The Island" by Richard Whiteing on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
There was no sleep for me. This seemed the final stroke of treason against the happiness of sentient life. I had done my best to spoil humanity's share of it, till Victoria entered her _caveat_ against the crime; and here was this sleeping figure, as my logical sequel, with all animate Nature for his mark.
It was a distressing thought, and I looked round for something to drive it away. The Captain's bundle of newspapers lay on a chair, and I took them up to read myself to sleep.