Possibly, too, Unorna was indifferent and was content to let him suffer, believing that his devotion might still be turned to some practical use.

However that may be, when Israel Kafka opened his eyes in the carriage he still loved her, though he was conscious that in his manner of loving a change had taken place, of which he was destined to realise the consequences before another day had passed.
When Keyork answered his first remark, he turned and looked at the old man.
"I suppose you are tougher than I," he said, languidly.

"You will hardly believe it, but I have been dozing already, here, in the carriage, since we left the station." "No harm in that.

Sleep is a great restorative," laughed Keyork.
"Are you so glad to be in Prague again ?" asked Kafka.

"It is a melancholy place.