Otherwise the house is silent to him. None of the strange things that were happening just now, when the men were taken to the wall, and the prisoners in the cells accompanied the men out in the corridor. Then it had all been alive and trembling.

He shakes his poor head. Was it only imagination ?

Go and lie down! he seems to hear somebody say, and he lies down obediently. Where did that come from? It was here. He stares at the peephole in the door, but it is closed. If it is open the light from the corridor shines through it. All the same, the swine must have been looking through it, and called in.

He looks at the tiny window up on the wall. Everything is dark. The window seems to be grey, but it is impossible to know where the glimmer of light could be coming from.

You’re off your head, he said.

Why did he say that?

I’m not off my head.

But he was formal. We always address each other formally, the swine and I. Surely he wouldn’t bother if I were crazy?

He seems forced to think about this unimportant matter: whether the swine addresses him formally or not. Simply because it is unimportant he cannot let go of it. And at the same time he knows that something significant and terrible and solemn has been happening all round him; something horrible and something exalted, that makes people cringe, and that makes people stand with head uplifted, inspired.

He cannot share in it. Or did nothing happen after all? He is unable to keep hold of the idea.

All the same, doubt cannot quite pull the ground away from under his feet. He has witnessed it, and can remember it.

The forgotten prisoner has been strongly affected by his wakeful night. He fell asleep finally, but when he awoke he was more acutely aware of the morning air in his body. He perceives much more than he has done of late.

He is aware of his sickeningly stuffy cell. The morning air does not pass through that. It is only a sensation in his body.

There is no new day in this house. But the light has been turned on and the swine will probably arrive soon with breakfast.

The night and everything that happened in it seem like an ordinary dream. It recedes when one looks back at it. But something has happened, for he is different. When the swine comes maybe some remark will be made about it. He talked to the swine during the night, more than he can remember doing at any time previously.

Then comes the old reluctance: I’m not going to look at him. I won’t eat his food either.

As soon as he hears the key in the lock he turns to the wall, out of old habit.

But not for long. He is under the whip.

‘Now then!’ says the swine sharply.

For he has to stand up. And he does so at once. But as he does so he stops and stares in astonishment at the open door.