The coming in here from the bedroom, with my pen and ink and paper, before sunrise⁠—the sitting down at the widely-opened window to get all the air I could to cool me⁠—the ceaseless writing, faster and faster, hotter and hotter, driving on more and more wakefully, all through the dreadful interval before the house was astir again⁠—how clearly I recall it, from the beginning by candlelight, to the end on the page before this, in the sunshine of the new day!