I could touch the side and the roof.

They were real and solid.

I rubbed my hand on them.
There was mighty comfort and assurance of safety in the very feel of them.
I lay between white sheets, and there was a pillow under my head.

I tried to raise my head to look about me, but it swam like oil in a pitching lamp, and I was glad to drop it on the pillow again.

The place was full of creakings, a sound I knew right well.
A door opened.