and a burst of sweat all over bathes the whole man, bone
and limb. “My sword!” he screams in frenzy; for his
sword he searches pillow and palace: the fever of the steel,
the guilty madness of bloodshed rage within him, and angry 30
pride tops all: even as when loud-crackling a fire of sticks
is heaped round the sides of a waving caldron, and the
heat makes the water start; there within is the flood,
steaming and storming, and bubbling high in froth, till at
last the wave cannot contain itself, and the black vapour 35
flies up into the air. So then, trampling on treaties, he