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"Pieces of torn linen couldn't rouse suspicion, whatever

happened; I think not, I think not, any way!" he repeated,

standing in the middle of the room, and with painful

concentration he fell to gazing about him again, at the floor and

everywhere, trying to make sure he had not forgotten anything.

The conviction that all his faculties, even memory, and the

simplest power of reflection were failing him, began to be an

insufferable torture.

"Surely it isn't beginning already! Surely it isn't my punishment

coming upon me? It is!"

The frayed rags he had cut off his trousers were actually lying

on the floor in the middle of the room, where anyone coming in

would see them!

"What is the matter with me!" he cried again, like one

distraught.