
I’ve always been able to trust my senses, the evidence of my own eyes until last night. It’s like they edit themselves out of your memory the minute you look away. The exact second you’re not looking at them, you can’t remember anything.
When I turned again, Sherlock Holmes was standing smiling at me across my study table. I rose to my feet, stared at him for some seconds in utter amazement, and then it appears that I must have fainted for the first and the last time in my life. The Adventure of the Empty House (1903).