My thoughts ranged about the earth, beginning with the business I had set out on, and presently--by way of recollections of Blenkiron and Peter--reaching the German forest where, in the Christmas of 1915, I had been nearly done in by fever and old Stumm.

I remembered the bitter cold of that wild race, and the way the snow seemed to burn like fire when I stumbled and got my face into it.
I reflected that sea-sickness was kitten's play to a good bout of malaria.
The weather was growing worse, and I was getting more than spindrift from the seas.

I hooked my arm round the rope, for my fingers were numbing.

Then I fell to dreaming again, principally about Fosse Manor and Mary Lamington.

This so ravished me that I was as good as asleep.