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with a cool smell of herbs and vinegar; the floor newly sprinkled; the -
the what? The Marchioness?
Yes; playing cribbage with herself at the table. There she sat, intent
upon her game, coughing now and then in a subdued manner as if
she feared to disturb him - shuffling the cards, cutting, dealing,
playing, counting, pegging - going through all the mysteries of
cribbage as if she had been in full practice from her cradle! Mr
Swiveller contemplated these things for a short time, and suffering the
curtain to fall into its former position, laid his head on the pillow
again.
'
I'm dreaming,' thought Richard, 'that's clear. When I went to bed, my
hands were not made of egg-shells; and now I can almost see through
em. If this is not a dream, I have woke up, by mistake, in an Arabian
'
Night, instead of a London one. But I have no doubt I'm asleep. Not
the least.'
Here the small servant had another cough.
'
Very remarkable!' thought Mr Swiveller. 'I never dreamt such a real
cough as that before. I don't know, indeed, that I ever dreamt either a
cough or a sneeze. Perhaps it's part of the philosophy of dreams that
one never does. There's another - and another - I say! - I'm dreaming
rather fast!'
For the purpose of testing his real condition, Mr Swiveller, after some
reflection, pinched himself in the arm.
'
Queerer still!' he thought. 'I came to bed rather plump than
otherwise, and now there's nothing to lay hold of. I'll take another
survey.'
The result of this additional inspection was, to convince Mr Swiveller
that the objects by which he was surrounded were real, and that he
saw them, beyond all question, with his waking eyes.
'
It's an Arabian Night; that's what it is,' said Richard. 'I'm in
Damascus or Grand Cairo. The Marchioness is a Genie, and having
had a wager with another Genie about who is the handsomest young
man alive, and the worthiest to be the husband of the Princess of
China, has brought me away, room and all, to compare us together.
Perhaps,' said Mr Swiveller, turning languidly round on his pillow,
and looking on that side of his bed which was next the wall, 'the
Princess may be still - No, she's gone.'
Not feeling quite satisfied with this explanation, as, even taking it to
be the correct one, it still involved a little mystery and doubt, Mr
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