The rain was falling in great gray blobs upon the skylight of the little room in which I opened my eyes on that February morning whence dates the chronological beginning of this autobiography.
Never before had I waked to find myself in that dreary, windowless little room, and never before had I lain in that narrow, unfriendly bed..
Everything about me was so strange, so painfully new.
Lying there, I wondered whether I had really heard a bell ringing, or had only dreamed it.
The jangle of a bell had awakened me, and its harsh, discordant echoes were still trembling upon the chill gloom of the daybreak.
The rain was falling in great gray blobs upon the skylight of the little room in which I opened my eyes on that February morning whence dates the chronological beginning of this autobiography
