Sinopsis

I am to write roughly of the past—more carefully of the present. Of the past that our identity may be established by reference to certain events which many will , should we be lost. Of the present, for reasons that will be obvious as I proceed.
On the morning of the 16th of November, 1894, I awoke to find myself the occupant of a narrow iron bedstead, in a small, poorly furnished room. The wall paper was mildewed, and the ceiling discolored with smoke. I was unable to where I was, and called aloud:
"Torrence!"
A sleepy answer recalled the situation, and assured me that all was well. Torrence, who was my twin brother, occupied the mate to my bed, on the opposite side of...