One Little Indian

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Philip sat back in the corner of his empty third-class carriage,
peering out of the window, in which he could see only the reflection of
the feeble gas-lamp. There was no doubt about it, however--they were
moving. The first stage of his journey had commenced. The blessed sense
of motion, after so long waiting, at first soothed and then exhilarated him.

Modified text originally written by E. Phillips Oppenheim