Rogers, causes.'
'Oho!' said his master, 'oho!'
'There is no true memory afterwards,' continued the little dreamer,
'because memory depends upon how much the spirit can bring back into
the brain, you see. We have vague feelings, rather than actual
recollection--feelings such as you were kind enough to confess to me
you had been haunted by yourself---'
'All-overish feelings,' Rogers helped him, seeing that he was losing
confidence a little, 'vague sensations of joy and wonder and--well--in
a word, strength.'
'Faith,' said Minks, with a decision of renewed conviction, 'which is
really nothing but unconscious knowledge--knowledge unremembered. And
it's the half-memory of what you do at night that causes
this sense of anticipation you now experience; for what is
anticipation, after all, but memory thrown forward?'
There was a pause then, during which Rogers lit a cigarette, while
Minks straightened his tie several times in succession.
'You are a greater reader than I, of course,' resumed his employer
presently; 'still, I have come across one or two stories which deal
with this kind of thing. Only, in the books, the people always
remember what they've done at night, out of the body, in the spirit,
or whatever you like to call it. Now, _I_ remember nothing whatever.
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