A Capillary Crime, and Other Stories — John Stuart Mill — John Shaqi
A Capillary Crime, and Other Stories
John Stuart Mill · en
Lighting all the candles at hand and stirring up the fire, we endeavored
to make the studio look cheerful, and, neither of us being inclined to
go to bed, we sat for a long time talking and smoking. But even the
bright fire and the soothing tobacco smoke did not wholly dispel the
gloom of the place, and when we finally carried the candles into the
bedroom, I felt a vague sense of dismal anticipation and apprehension.
We left both doors open, so that the light from our room streamed across
the corner of the sitting-room, and threw a great square of strong
reflection on the studio carpet. While undressing, I found that I had
left my matchbox on the studio table, and thought I would return for it.
I remember now what a mental struggle I went through before I made up my
mind to go without a candle. I glanced at my friend’s face, partly to
see if he noticed any indication of nervousness in my expression, and
partly because I was conscious of a kind of psychological sympathy
between us. But fear of his ridicule made me effectually conceal my
feelings, and I went out of the room without speaking. As I walked
across the non-resonant, carpeted stone floor I had the most curious
set of sensations I have ever experienced. At nearly every step I took I
came into a different stratum or perpendicular layer of air. First it
was cool to my face, then warm, then chill again, and again warm.
Thinking to calm my nervous excitement, I stood still and looked around
me. The great window above my head dimly transmitted the sky reflection,
but threw little light into the studio. The folds of the curtain over
the open space above the sitting-room appeared to wave slightly in the
uncertain light, and the easels and lay figure stood gaunt and ghostly
along the further wall. I waited there and reasoned with myself, arguing
that there was no possible cause for fear, that a strong man ought to
control his nerves, that it was silly at my time of life to begin to be
afraid of the dark; but I could not get rid of the sensation. As I went
back to the bedroom I experienced the same succession of physical
shocks; but whether they followed each other in the same order or not I
was unable to determine.