For the rest, the eve of battle held no exciting thoughts for him.

He could neither win the game nor lose it; he was merely a spectator, like thousands of others; only he would see the contest from the players' bench instead of the big new stand that half encircled the field.
But despite the feeling of aloofness that possessed and oppressed him, sleep did not come readily.

For a long time he heard Paul stirring about restlessly across the little bedroom and the occasional cheers of some party of patriotic students returning to their rooms across the common.
His brain refused to stop its labors; and, in fact, kept busily at them long after he had fallen asleep.

He dreamed continually, a ceaseless stream of weird, unpleasant visions causing him to turn and toss all through the night and leaving him when dawn came weary and unrefreshed.
Out of doors the early sun was brushing away the white frost.

The sky was almost devoid of clouds, and the naked branches of the elms reached upward unswayed by any breeze.