THREE o'clock in the morning. The soft April night is looking in at my windows and caressingly winking at me with its stars. I can't sleep I am so happy! My whole being from head to heels is bursting with a strange incomprehensible feeling. I can't analyse it just now - I haven't the time I'm too lazy and there - hang analysis! Why is a man likely to interpret his sensations when he is flying head foremost from a belfry or has just learned that he has won two hundred thousand? Is he in a state to do it?
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