Kafka glanced suspiciously at him and at the other two, but seemed unable to make any further effort and sank back with a low groan.

His face grew pale and his eyelids drooped.
"Get some wine--something to restore him," the Wanderer said.
Keyork looked at the Moravian critically for a moment.
"Yes," he assented, "he is more exhausted than I thought.

He is not very dangerous now." Then he went in search of what was needed.

The Individual retired to a distance and stood looking on with folded arms.
"Do you hear me ?" asked the Wanderer, speaking gently.

"Do you understand what I say ?" Israel Kafka nodded, but said nothing.
"You are very ill.