When he knew himself again, he was in the street, running like the wind, he knew not whither.

It was not that he dreaded any hurt to himself; horror, not fear, was behind him.
His next recollection of himself was in the first of the morning, on the lofty chain-bridge over the river Daur.

Before him lay he knew not what, only escape from what was behind.

His faith in men seemed ruined.

The city, his home, was frightful to him.