He talked to barmaids, to almost any woman, but there was that dark, strained look in his eyes, as if he were hunting something.
Everything seemed so different, so unreal.

There seemed no reason why people should go along the street, and houses pile up in the daylight.
There seemed no reason why these things should occupy the space, instead of leaving it empty.

His friends talked to him: he heard the sounds, and he answered.

But why there should be the noise of speech he could not understand.
He was most himself when he was alone, or working hard and mechanically at the factory.

In the latter case there was pure forgetfulness, when he lapsed from consciousness.