The sudden discovery of the loss of the matchbox had clanged the facts about his ears with the discordant scream of closing gates.
He was captured, caught irretrievably, like a rat in a trap.

He did not wish to be caught like a rat in a trap.

This was a free world.
Air, light, colour were about him on every side.

To die, fighting, on a hill-top, in a battle-field, that was one thing.

To see them crowding into his room, to be dragged into a dark airless place, to be caught by the neck and throttled.