?"

"They have to work so hard to look after you."

Then she left him alone, and he fell asleep before they all came up to
bed.

Generally speaking, the first part of the night, however bad the outside
noises, was not so fearful as the second part. Mostly the second portion
of the night was preceded by a bad dream in which Michael's nerves were
so much shaken that he had no courage or common-sense left to grapple
with the long hours in the ghastly stillness of his room. There was one
dream in particular which he dreaded, and indeed it was the only one
that repeated itself at regular intervals without any essential change.
He would find himself alone in a long street in the middle of the night.
Usually it would be shining with wet, but sometimes it would be dry and
airless. This street stretched as far as one could see. It had on either
side lamp-posts which burned with a steady staring illumination, long
rows of lamp-posts that converged in the farthest distance. The houses
all seemed empty, yet everyone was in some way a malignant personality.
Down this street Michael would have to walk on and on. He would meet
nobody, and the only living thing was a bony hound that pattered behind
him at whatever pace he went, whether he ran or whether he loitered. He
would in his dream be filled with a desire to enter one of these houses,
and often he would mount the steps and knock a summons on the door--a
knock that echoed all over the gloom within. While he knocked, the bony
hound would howl in the shadows of the basement. Every house at which he
knocked Michael would be more and more anxious to pass, more and more
fearful to disturb. Yet however much he struggled against it, he would
ultimately be compelled to knock his loud challenge. The street would
now stretch for miles of lighted lamps before and behind him, and the
knowledge would gradually be borne in upon Michael that sooner or later
in one of these grey houses the door would open. He would hurry along,
but however fast he travelled some house would draw him inexorably to
its threshold, and he would wait in agony lest slowly the great door
should swing back to a dim hall. The climax of the dream would now be
reached. One house would simultaneously repel and draw him more than any
of those left behind. He would struggle to go by, but he would find
himself on the steps with legs that refused to carry him away. He would
knock: very slowly the door would swing back and, con