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moment, and as Mr. Fotheringay gasped, fell with a smash on his
toilet-table, leaving him in darkness save for the expiring glow of its
wick.
For a time Mr. Fotheringay sat in the darkness, perfectly still. "It did
happen, after all," he said. "And 'ow I'm to explain it I don't
know." He sighed heavily, and began feeling in his pockets for a match.
He could find none, and he rose and groped about the toilet-table. "I
wish I had a match," he said. He resorted to his coat, and there was
none there, and then it dawned upon him that miracles were possible even
with matches. He extended a hand and scowled at it in the dark. "Let
there be a match in that hand," he said. He felt some light object fall
across his palm, and his fingers closed upon a match.
After several ineffectual attempts to light this, he discovered it was a
safety-match. He threw it down, and then it occurred to him that he
might have willed it lit. He did, and perceived it burning in the midst
of his toilet-table mat. He caught it up hastily, and it went out. His
perception of possibilities enlarged, and he felt for and replaced the
candle in its candlestick. "Here! you be lit," said Mr. Fotheringay,
and forthwith the candle was flaring, and he saw a little black hole in
the toilet-cover, with a wisp of smoke rising from it. For a time he
stared from this to the little flame and back, and then looked up and
met his own gaze in the looking glass. By this help he communed with
himself in silence for a time.
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