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But no sooner had he put it on than he pulled it off again in

loathing and horror. He pulled it off, but reflecting that he had

no other socks, he picked it up and put it on again--and again he

laughed.

"That's all conventional, that's all relative, merely a way of

looking at it," he thought in a flash, but only on the top

surface of his mind, while he was shuddering all over, "there,

I've got it on! I have finished by getting it on!"

But his laughter was quickly followed by despair.

"No, it's too much for me..." he thought. His legs shook. "From

fear," he muttered. His head swam and ached with fever. "It's a

trick! They want to decoy me there and confound me over

everything," he mused, as he went out on to the stairs--"the

worst of it is I'm almost light-headed... I may blurt out

something stupid..."