CHAPTER XXII.
More than an hour had elapsed since the Wanderer and Unorna had finally turned the key upon Israel Kafka, leaving him to his own reflections.
During the first moments he made desperate efforts to get out of the conservatory, throwing himself with all his weight and strength against the doors and thrusting the point of his long knife into the small apertures of the locks.

Then, seeing that every attempt was fruitless, he desisted and sat down, in a state of complete exhaustion.

A reaction began to set in after the furious excitement of the afternoon, and he felt all at once that it would be impossible for him to make another step or raise his arm to strike.

A man less sound originally in bodily constitution would have broken down sooner, and it was a proof of Israel Kafka's extraordinary vigour and energy that he did not lose his senses in a delirious fever at the moment when he felt that his strength could bear no further strain.
But his thoughts, such as they were, did not lack clearness.

He saw that his opportunity was gone, and he began to think of the future, wondering what would take place next.