His features seemed to be dislimning before my eyes.

He was growing sharper, finer, in a way younger, a man without grip on himself, a shapeless creature in process of transformation.

He was being reduced to his rudiments.

Under the spell of panic he was becoming a new man.
And the crazy thing was that I knew the new man better than the old.
My hands were jammed close to my sides by the crowd; I could scarcely turn my head, and it was not the occasion for one's neighbours to observe one's expression.

If it had been, mine must have been a study.
My mind was far away from air raids, back in the hot summer weather of 1914.