Word: sofas
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...streaming brightly through the curtains, and I was lying all dressed upon the sofa, when I regained consciousness. Slowly the veil that clouded my memory lifted, and I could look back at the horror and darkness of the night, which had so suddenly come to an end. But I was long in comprehending what had passed. It seemed like being in another world, with the newness of awakened life and the radiance of a fresh spring day. I rose slowly and tried to think what had happened. Then, like a lightning-flash, the truth was revealed...
...myself down on the sofa again, and tried to think. I might as well have tried to fly. My brain was spinning about like a wheel, and I could distinguish nothing clearly. There was the dream, the vision, the actuality, whatever it was, of the night before; here was the fact of to-day, the bright sunlight, the undisturbed room, and - myself. Where was Stephen? That was the question that kept repeating itself over and over, the question for which I could find no answer. Only in my own consciousness remained any trace of the night before...
...Confound this sofa, wish it wouldn't sway so," - pause - smile - "how absurd, sofa don't sway, how can it? Contrary to all laws of nature. I know what it is, it's this poor, miserable head of mine; trouble's here, sofa's all right." This momentary flash of intelligence overcomes me, and I fall into a blissful doze. "Click, click," goes the letter box. I start up suddenly, exclaim viciously, and stagger mechanically towards the door. "Suppose it's another postal for my chum announcing meeting of St. Paul's or Natural History Societies. No, by Jove...
...spoke we entered a handsome edifice and left the elevator at the third floor. In a gorgeously furnished room was a gentleman reclining on a red velvet sofa...
This company must be intending to leave the legitimate drama for pantomime, for nearly every article turns into something else, - generally into a bed. The fascinating columbine, Modjeska, sits during the daytime on a sofa which, with a wave of her wand, turns into a four-poster, while the noted harlequin, Manager H. H. Sargent, with a blow of his sword, turns some one of his numerous nickel-plated conveniences into a trundle...