He felt he couldn't touch the lamp-posts, not if he reached.

Where could he go?
There was nowhere to go, neither back into the inn, or forward anywhere.

He felt stifled.
There was nowhere for him.

The stress grew inside him; he felt he should smash.
"I mustn't," he said; and, turning blindly, he went in and drank.
Sometimes the drink did him good; sometimes it made him worse.

He ran down the road.