Peter
followed in a sort of stupor from the flood of words, ideas, and strange
fancies that had been poured into his ears.
The Captain turned off the piazza into one of those old-fashioned
Southern rooms with full-length windows, which were really glazed doors,
a ceiling so high that Peter could make out only vague concentric rings
of stucco-work among the shadows overhead, and a floor space of ball-
room proportions. In one corner was a huge canopy bed, across from it a
clothes-press of dark wood, and in another corner a large screen hiding
the bathing arrangements.
Peter's bedroom was a sleeping apartment, in the old sense of the word
before the term "apartment" had lost its dignity.
The Captain placed the lamp on the great table and indicated Peter's
possession with a wave of the hand.
"If you stay here, Peter, I will put in a call-bell, so I can awaken you
if I need you during the night. Now I wish you healthful slumbers and
pleasant dreams." With that the old gentleman withdrew ceremoniously.
When the Captain was gone, the mulatto remained standing in the vast
expanse, marveling over this queer turn of fortune.
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