This led me to speculate whether any of them ever tumbled down, and then I fancied that I felt light falls on my face,--a disagreeable turn of thought, suggesting other and more objectionable approaches up my back.

When I had lain awake a little while, those extraordinary voices with which silence teems began to make themselves audible.

The closet whispered, the fireplace sighed, the little washing-stand ticked, and one guitar-string played occasionally in the chest of drawers.

At about the same time, the eyes on the wall acquired a new expression, and in every one of those staring rounds I saw written, DON'T GO HOME.
Whatever night-fancies and night-noises crowded on me, they never warded off this DON'T GO HOME.

It plaited itself into whatever I thought of, as a bodily pain would have done.