Fenwick stood still, gave himself up to the possession--let it hold him--felt the strangeness and the peril of it--then, suddenly, wrenched himself free.
Running down to the edge of the river, he began to pick up stones and throw them violently into the stream.

It was a remedy he had long learnt to use.

The physical action released the brain from the tyranny of the forms which held it.

Gradually they passed away.

He began to breathe more quietly, and, sitting down by the water, his head in his hands, he gave himself up to a quieter pleasure in the nature round him, and in the strength of his own faculty.
To something else also.