Continuation of James Joyce's "Araby"

I walked slowly towards the turnstile that I had entered through. The clink of the turning metal echoed through the empty space in a reproachful taunt. It knew. <Tab/>I did not wish to return, yet I had nowhere to go. I knew my uncle would be in the parlor with his comrades. They would be drunk and want to ask questions that I could not answer. I was alone--free, yet …

…illuminated. I fell to my knees and touched the water. I tried to feel it, to sense its temperature, but nothing came. I was disappointed at this, and I touched it again, this time dipping my arm in until my elbow was consumed. I drew my face towards the murky, mysterious depths, still feeling nothing. <Tab/>And then, in my greatest moment, I dove face-first into the sea, and swam away.