He imagined that the man next to him, a spotty, thin and restless freshman, would suddenly turn to him and say quite casually--"By the way, you killed Carfax, didn't you ?" Above all he imagined himself suddenly rising in his place and saying---"Yes, gentlemen, this is all very well, very interesting I'm sure, but I killed Carfax." His tortured brain was being driven, compelled to these utterances.
Behind him still he felt that pursuing cloud; one day it would catch him and, out of the heart of it, there would leap.

.

.
And all this because Bunning looked at him.

It was becoming now a habit--so general that it was instinctive--that, almost unconsciously, he should, at a point like this, pull at his nerves.

"They are watching you; they are watching you.