How often, sleeping, waking, had he said those words! How often, aloud, in his room, with his door locked, had he almost shouted them! He was not now altogether sure whether Bunning were really there or no.
His spectacles were there, his boots were there, but was Bunning there?
If he were not there.

.

.

.
But he _was_ there.

Olva's brain slowly cleared and, for the first time for many weeks, he was entirely himself.