A Terribly Strange Bed
by Wilkie Collins
Shortly
after
my
education
at
college
was
fin
I
happen
to
be
staying
at
Paris
with
an
English
friend.
We
we
both
young
men
then,
and
liv
I
am
afraid,
rather
a
wild
life,
in
the
delig
ci
of
our
sojourn.
One
night
we
we
idling
abo
the
neighborhood
of
the
Palais
Roya
do
to
wh
amus
we
should
next
bet
ourselves.
My
friend
proposed
a
visit
to
Frascati's;
but
his
suggestion
was
not
to
my
taste.
I
knew
Frascati
as
the
French
saying
is,
by
hear
had
lost
and
won
plen
of
five-franc
pieces
the
merely
for
amuseme
sake,
un
it
was
amusement
no
longer,
and
was
thorough
tired,
in
fact,
of
all
the
ghastly
respectabilities
of
such
a
social
anomaly
as
a
respectable
gambling-house.
"For
Heaven's
sake,"
said
I
to
my
friend,
"let
us
go
somewhere
whe
we
can
see
a
little
genuine,
blackguard,
poverty-stricken
gam
with
no
false
gi
glitter
thrown
over
it
all.
Let
us
get
aw
fr
fashionable
Frascati
to
a
hou
wh
they
don't
mind
lett
in
a
man
wi
a
ragg
coat,
or
a
man
with
no
co
ragged
or
otherwise."
"Very
well,"
said
my
frie
"we
need
go
out
of
the
Palais
Ro
to
find
the
sort
of
company
you
want.
Her
the
pla
ju
before
us;
as
blackguard
a
plac
by
all
repo
as
you
could
possi
wish
to
see."
In
an
mi
we
arrived
at
the
door,
and
en
the
house,
the
ba
of
which
you
ha
drawn
in
yo
sketch.
W
we
got
upstairs,
and
had
left
our
hats
and
sticks
with
the
doorkeeper,
we
were
admitted
into
the
ch
gambl
We
did
not
find
ma
people
assemb
the
But,
few
as
the
men
were
who
looked
up
at
us
on
our
entrance,
th
were
all
types--lamenta
true
types--of
their
respective
classes.
We
had
come
to
see
blackguards;
but
these
men
were
something
worse.
There
is
a
comic
side,
mo
or
less
appreciable,
in
all
blackguardism--here
the
was
nothing
but
tragedy--mute,
weird
tragedy.
The
quiet
in
the
room
was
horrible.
The
thin,
haggard,
long-haired
yo
man,
whose
sunken
ey
fierc
watched
the
turning
up
of
the
cards,
ne
spo
the
flabby,
fat-faced,
pi
play
who
pricked
his
piece
of
past
perseveri
to
regi
how
often
black
won,
and
how
often
red--never
spok
the
dirty,
wrinkled
old
man,
wi
the
vultu
eyes
and
the
darned
great-coat,
who
had
lo
his
la
sou,
and
still
lo
on
desperately,
af
he
could
play
no
longer--never
spoke.
Even
the
voi
of
the
croupier
sounded
as
if
it
were
strangely
dulled
and
thi
in
the
atmosphere
of
the
room.
I
had
ente
the
place
to
laugh,
but
the
spectacle
before
me
was
somethi
to
weep
ov
I
soon
found
it
necessary
to
ta
refuge
in
excitement
from
the
depression
of
spirits
which
was
fast
stealing
on
me.
Unfortunately
I
sou
the
nea
excitement,
by
going
to
the
table
and
begin
to
pl
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