I remember how he had defined it: "the sudden thing that hits a man's heart and makes him stand stock-still like a living corpse--unable to move a muscle--all his will-power out of gear--just as a motor is out of gear....

It is as much of a fit as epilepsy." The span of stillness was unbearable.

The watch on the little table by my bedside ticked maddeningly.

Marigold put his head in at the door, apparently to warn me that it was getting late.

I waved him imperiously away.