The countenance of Mr. Lancaster, who sat opposite me, seemed
to disappear, as did also all the objects with which I was surrounded.
From that moment I became unconscious of all that passed. I sank down on
the floor in the heavy sleep, or rather in the utter insensibility, of
excessive intoxication.
On awaking, which was not until a late hour of the night, I found the
scene changed. The room was dark, the bottles and glasses removed, and
my friend Mr. Lancaster gone.
It was some seconds before I felt myself struck by this contrast; that
is, before I fully recollected the circumstances which had preceded my
unconsciousness. These, however, gradually unfolded themselves, until
the whole stood distinctly before me. After having sat up for a second
or two--for I found myself still on the floor when I awoke, having been
left to lie where I fell--and having recalled all the circumstances of
the day's occurrences, I instinctively clapped my hand to the breast of
my jacket to feel for my pocket-book. It was again gone. Thinking at
first that it might have dropt out while I slept, I began groping about
the floor; but there was no pocket-book there. In great alarm I now
started to my feet, and began calling on the house. My calls were
answered by the landlady herself, who, with a candle in her hand, and a
fierce expression of face, flushed apparently with drink, entered the
apartment, and sternly demanded what I wanted, and what I meant by
making such a noise in her house.
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