The bedmaker, the men passing through the Court beneath his windows, the porter at the gate--these people were unreal, and above him, around him, the mist seemed ever about to break into new terrible presences.
"This thing is wearing me down.

I shall go off my head if something definite doesn't happen"-- and then, there in his room with the stupid breakfast things still on the table, the consciousness of the presence of God seized him so that he felt as though the pursuit were suddenly at an end and there was nothing left now but complete submission.
In this world of wraiths, God was the most certain Presence.

.

.

.
There remained only Margaret.