Word: visional
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Dates: during 1880-1889
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...room, far from sight or hearing of any human being, I tried to consider calmly the terrible problem. But I could arrive at no satisfactory result. Here were the facts - the vision which had showed me my friend's murderer, and Mr. Edmund Austen, brother of the young woman - who was my plighted wife. Ah, what a deep and bitter tragedy was expressed in those few words! How could I account for these things except through supernatural causes? How could I account for supernatural causes? I had not been trained to believe in so startling spiritual manifestations as these. They...
...about me in a bewildered way. There was no trace of the terrible contest I had witnessed the night before; there was no dead man on the floor, no blood-spot or stain, no sign of struggle or death. What was it I had seen, - a mere nightmare, a vision? I could not think so. I had been too profoundly affected by that scene, whatever it was, to let it vanish utterly in the morning brightness that made it seem an unreality. But where was Stephen? Where was his murderer? For murdered he must have been! Had I not seen...
...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...
...that I looked pale, and had lost my appetite. It was no news to me. I asked if Stephen had been anywhere seen. No, not since yesterday. Where was he? I could say nothing, except that I did not know; I could not bring in that strange enchanted vision as evidence...
Already, the unexplained tragedy, in which I had six months before played so large a part, was beginning to look very far off; already that horrible nightmare was passing away in the clearer light of the days that followed. But I could not wholly forget the terrible vision. Stephen May-more had vanished utterly from human knowledge, and I - I had seen the face of his murderer. That was the fact which persistently followed me, the conviction I could not contradict. Often I awoke in the middle of the night, shivering and ghost-haunted, from some second vision of death...