There were sudden changes from day to night and from night to day.

In dark chambers crouching men took counsel of blood together under the feeble rays of a flickering lamp.

In the uncertain twilight of winter, muffled figures lurked at the corner of streets, waiting for some one to pass, who must not escape them.

As the Wanderer gazed and listened, Israel Kafka was transformed.

He no longer stood with outstretched arms, his back against a crumbling slab, his filmy eyes fixed on Unorna's face.