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Veil after veil of thin dusky gauze is lifted, and by degrees the

forms and colours of things are restored to them, and we watch

the dawn remaking the world in its antique pattern. The wan

mirrors get back their mimic life. The flameless tapers stand

where we had left them, and beside them lies the half-cut book

that we had been studying, or the wired flower that we had worn

at the ball, or the letter that we had been afraid to read, or

that we had read too often. Nothing seems to us changed. Out of

the unreal shadows of the night comes back the real life that we

had known.