"It is I." Instinctively he raised his right hand to the wall and turned on the light.
Under the electric light it was she,--a different Freya from any that he had ever seen, with her wealth of hair falling in golden serpents over her shoulders covered with an Asiatic tunic that enveloped her like a cloud.
It was not the Japanese kimono, vulgarized by commerce.

It was made in one piece of Hindustanic cloth, embroidered with fantastic flowers and capriciously draped.

Through its fine texture could be perceived the flesh as though it were a wrapping of multicolored air.
She uttered a protest.

Then, imitating Ulysses' gesture, she reached her hand toward the wall ...

and all was darkness.
* * * * * Upon awakening, he felt the sunlight on his face.