tired the feeling that he was being robbed of
something gnawed at his soul; he was restless even when he slept. Haste
coloured his eye, fashioned his step, and moulded his deeds. He ate his
meals in haste, wrote his letters in haste, and talked in haste.

It pained him to feel that men were looking at him. Although he
invariably sought out the most deserted corner of whatever inn he
chanced to stop at, and thereby avoided becoming, so far as he might,
the target of the curious, he was nevertheless gaped at, watched, and
studied wherever he went. For everything about him was conspicuous: the
energy of his gestures, the agility of his mimicry, the way he showed
his teeth, and the nervous, hacking step with which he moved through
groups of gossiping people.

He had anticipated with rare pleasure the sight of the sea. He was
prepared to behold the monstrous, titanic, seething, and surging
element, the tempest of the Apocalypse. He was disappointed by the
peaceful rise and fall of the tide, the harmless rolling back and forth
of the waves. He concluded that it were better for one not to become
acquainted with things that had inspired one's fancy with reverential
awe.

He could quarrel with nature just as he could quarrel with men. The
phases of nature which he regarded as her imperfections excited his
anger. He was fond, however, of a certain spot in the forest; or he
liked a tree in the plain, or sunset along the canal.

He liked best of all the narrow streets of the cities, when the gentle
murmurings of song wafted forth from the open windows, or when the light
from the lamp shone forth from the windows after they had been closed.
He loved to pass by courts and cellars, gates and fences; when the face
of an old man, or that of a young girl, came suddenly to view, when
workmen went home from the factories, or soldiers from the barracks, or
seamen from the harbours, he saw a story in each of them; he felt as one
feels on reading an exciting book.

One day when he was in Cleve he walked the streets at night all alone.
He noticed a man and a woman and five children, all poorly dressed,
standing near a church. Lying before them on the pavement were several
bundles containing their earthly possessions. A man came up after a
while and addressed them in a stern, domineering tone; they picked up
their bundles and followed him: it was a mournful procession. They were
emigrants; the man had told them about their ship.

Daniel