Mr Verloc made an effort, finished undressing, and got into bed. Down
below in the quiet, narrow street measured footsteps approached the
house, then died away unhurried and firm, as if the passer-by had started
to pace out all eternity, from gas-lamp to gas-lamp in a night without
end; and the drowsy ticking of the old clock on the landing became
distinctly audible in the bedroom.
Joseph Conrad, The Secret Agent, 1907
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