and minutes of a diffused reaching out when the world, torn by internal explosion, seemed flying away from him in fragments, even walls receding from his cot which stayed, by a miracle, alone upon a wind-swept moor.
Intervals were an eternity.

Familiarity with the detail of the room engendered frantic loathing.

His brain conned over the faded colors in the rag rug and encountered the unchangeable, bayonet-like crack in the mirror with nervous fury.

No peace came with the darkness.

Each familiar thing persisted, looming clearer to his tired mind by the very effort his straining eyes made to reach it.