He himself seemed to think so, for he added in short jerks: "It was those old Druids--got sick--o' the sight--o' Carfax's dirty body--bangin' about in their preserves--an' they gave him a chuck under the chin," and after that there was silence.
To Olva the effect of this was uncanny.

He played, it seemed, a spiritual Blind Man's Buff.

On every side of him things filled the air; once and again he would touch them, sometimes he would fancy that he was alone, clear, isolated, when suddenly something again would blunder up against him.

And always with him, driving him into the bustle of his fellow men, flinging him, hurling him from one noise to another noise, was the terror of silence.

Let him once be alone, once waiting in suspense, and he would hear.