The gorgeous pictures rose one after the other in his imagination, and satisfied a longing of which he felt that he had been vaguely aware before beginning the journey.

None of these lacked reality, any more than Keyork himself, thought it seemed strange to the young man that he should actually have seen so much in so short a time.
But Keyork and Unorna understood their art and knew how much more easy it is to produce a fiction of continuity where an element of confusion is introduced by the multitude and variety of the quickly succeeding impressions and almost destitute of incident.

One occurrence, indeed, he remembered with extraordinary distinctness, and could have affirmed under oath in all its details.

It had taken place in Palermo.

The heat had seemed intense by contrast with the bitter north he had left behind.
Keyork had gone out and he had been alone in a strange hotel.