The Long Day (Esprios Classics)

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. The jangle of a bell had awakened me and its harsh discordant echoes were still trembling upon the chill gloom of the daybreak. Lying there I wondered whether I had really heard a bell ringing or had only dreamed it. Everything about me was so strange so painfully new. 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.