the angel and the author

The Angel and the Author and othersby Jerome K. JeromeCHAPTER II had a vexing dream one night, not long ago: it was about afortnight after Christmas. I dreamt I flew out of the window in mynightshirt. I went up and up. I was glad that I was going up."They have been noticing me," I thought to myself. "If anything, Ihave been a bit too good. A little less virtue and I might havelived longer. But one cannot have everything." The world grewsmaller and smaller. The last I saw of London was the long line ofelectric lamps bordering the Embankment; later nothing remained but afaint luminosity buried beneath darkness. It was at this point of my...

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