and he decided to remain in Lourdes.
He passed a night of torture in the hotel, listening to the ripple of the river among its stones.

Insomnia had him in his fierce jaws, gnawing him with interminable agony.

He turned on the light several times, but was not able to read.

His eyes looked with stupid fixity at the patterns of the wall paper and the pious pictures around the room which had evidently served as the lodging place of some rich traveller.

He remained motionless and as abstracted as an Oriental who thinks himself into an absolute lack of thought.