Explore "Recalled to Life" by Grant Allen on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
The rest of that night I lay awake in my bed, the scene in the verandah by the big blue-gum-trees haunting me all the time, much as in earlier days the Picture of the murder had pursued and haunted me. Early in the morning I rose up, and went down to Jane in her little parlour. I longed for society in my awe. I needed human presence. I couldn't bear to be left alone by myself with all these pressing and encompassing mysteries.
"Jane," I said after a few minutes' careless talk -- for I didn't like to tell her about my wonderful dream, -- "where exactly did you find the picture of that house hanging over in the corner there?"