I grew more and more excited, and burst into a torrent of talk about my good friend Baylay’s “enmity,” waving my arms and raving furiously. The two doctors looked on aghast, and I noticed Captain Suhbi Fahri changed his grip on his silver-headed cane to the thin end. It took them quite a time to quieten me down again. At last I gathered up my scattered manuscript and resumed my writing. Hill had never moved or paid the slightest attention to the pandemonium. They turned to him.
Major Osman. “Why are you keeping the room so hot? It is a warm day.”
(Moïse had to call Hill by name and repeat the question several times before Hill appeared to realize that he was being addressed. Then he raised a starving, grey-green, woebegone face to his questioners.)
“Cold,” he said, and huddled an inch nearer the stove.
“Why don’t you go out?” asked Major Osman.
“Baylay,” said Hill, without lifting his head.
“Why don’t you sweep the floor?”
“Poison in dust.”
“Why is there poison in the dust?”
“Baylay,” said the monotonous voice again.