The houses seemed to fly before his vacant eyes.
To stop this nightmare he tried to count the gas-lamps: one, two, three, four, five--but the same thought interrupted his calculation: "You are dead, since your betrothed is about to marry another." He was afraid he was going mad.

A sharp pain shot across his forehead just above the right eyebrow.

In the old days he had felt the same pain when he had overworked himself in preparing for his examinations at the Polytechnic School.

With a bitter smile he asked himself if one of the aching vessels in his brain was about to burst?
The sudden stoppage of the cab freed him from this torture.

The hotel porter opened the door.