'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.
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