He felt that his bed was up above a scrambling swarm of black-legged things that fought.
He had no idea how long he lay stock-still, for fear of calling attention to himself, and hated his servant and Mahommed Gunga and all India.

Once--twice--he thought he heard another sound, almost like the footfall of a man on the veranda near him.

Once he thought that a man breathed within ten paces of him, and for a moment there was a distinct sensation of not being alone.

He hoped it was true; he could deal with an assassin.

That would be something tangible to hate and hit.