What could have occurred, then, to prevent Peter or the girl from setting me free?
Could they have been forced into accompanying the soldiers?
Could they have forgotten?
Could they deliberately leave me there to die?
My brain whirled with incipient madness, as such questions haunted me unceasingly.

I lost faith in everything, even her, and cursed aloud, hating the echoes of my own voice.

It seemed as though those walls, that low roof, were crushing me, as if the close, foul air was suffocating.

I recall tearing open the front of my shirt to gain easier breath.

I walked about beating with bare hands the rough stone, muttering to myself words without meaning.