He feared lest he should become insensible, and so perhaps be suffocated.

His arms were entirely numbed; he could not feel that he was lying on them.

Surely Slimy's emissary would come before midnight.
"One, two, three, four--twelve!" How was it that e had lost all count of the hours since eight o'clock?
Whether that had been sleep or insensibility, Waymark could not decide.

Intensity of cold must have brought back consciousness; his whole body seemed to be frozen; his eyes ached insufferably.

Continuous thought had somehow become an impossibility; he knew that Ida was constantly in his mind, and her image clear at times in the dark before him, but he could not think about her as he wished and tried to do.