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About
Snippet
A
sleeping
man
holds
in
a
circle
around
him
the
sequence
of
the
hours,
the
order
of
the
years
and
worlds.
He
consults
them
instinctively
as
he
wakes
and
reads
in
a
second
the
point
on
the
earth
he
occupies,
the
time
that
has
elapsed
before
his
waking;
but
their
ranks
can
be
mixed
up,
broken.
If
toward
morning,
after
a
bout
of
insomnia,
sleep
overcomes
him
as
he
is
reading,
in
a
position
quite
different
from
the
one
in
which
he
usually
sleeps,
his
raised
arm
alone
is
enough
to
stop
the
sun
and
make
it
retreat,
and,
in
the
first
minute
of
his
waking,
he
will
no
longer
know
what
time
it
is,
he
will
think
he
has
only
just
gone
to
bed.
If
he
dozes
off
in
a
position
still
more
displaced
and
divergent,
after
dinner
sitting
in
an
armchair
for
instance,
then
the
confusion
among
the
disordered
worlds
will
be
complete,
the
magic
armchair
will
send
him
traveling
at
top
speed
throughout
time
and
space,
and
at
the
moment
of
opening
his
eyelids,
he
will
believe
he
went
to
bed
several
months
earlier
in
another
country.
But
it
was
enough,
if,
in
my
own
bed,
my
sleep
was
deep
and
allowed
my
mind
to
relax
entirely;
then
it
would
let
go
of
the
map
of
the
place
where
I
had
fallen
asleep,
and
when
I
woke
in
the
middle
of
the
night,
since
I
did
not
know
where
I
was,
I
did
not
even
understand
in
the
first
moment
who
I
was;
I
had
only,
in
its
original
simplicity,
the
sense
of
existence
as
it
may
quiver
in
the
depths
of
an
animal;
I
was
more
destitute
than
a
cave
dweller;
but
then
the
memory
-
not
yet
of
the
place
where
I
was,
but
of
several
of
those
where
I
had
lived
and
where
I
might
have
been,
would
come
to
me
like
help
from
on
high
to
pull
me
out
of
the
void
from
which
I
could
not
have
got
out
on
my
own;
I
crossed
centuries
of
civilization
in
one
second,
and
the
image
confusedly
glimpsed
of
oil
lamps,
then
of
wing-collar
shirts,
gradually
recomposed
my
self's
original
features.
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