It was as if his imagination were digging in a deep pit. In a deep pit his imagination, with hurrying hands, dug up sand. What was it seeking, his rooting imagination? What was it seeking in the deep pit, why was it flinging the sand around him ... just as Addie once told him that Ernst had dug and flung up sand ... in the dunes ... in the dunes at Nunspeet?... What!... What!... Was he going mad too!... Was he going mad ... like Ernst? Was he going mad ... like Ernst?... A cold sweat broke out over his chilly, shivering body. Was he going mad?...
"Gerrit!... Gerrit!"
A voice sounded very far away through the house, which had suddenly become very deep, very wide, very big.
"Gerrit!... Gerrit!"
He could hear the hurrying footsteps on the creaking stairs, but he was powerless to answer.
"Gerrit!... Gerrit!... Where are you?"
The door opened. It was Adeline, looking for him ... in the dark:
"Gerrit!... Are you here?..."
Even yet he did not answer.
"Where are you, Gerrit?"