midday
Drene 's sick brain ached with the problem day and night . In November the snow fell . Drene had not been out except in imagination . Day after day , in imagination , he had followed Graylock , night after night , slyly , stealthily , shirking after him through busy avenues at midday , lurking by shadowy houses at midnight , burning to see what expression this man wore , what was imprinted on his features ; -- obsessed by a desire to learn what he might be thinking -- with death drawing nearer . But Drene , in the body , had never stirred from his own chilly room -- a gaunt , fierce-eyed thing , unkempt , half-clothed , huddled all day in his chair brooding above his bitten nails , or flung starkly across his couch at night staring at the stars through the dirty crust of glass above . One night in December when the stars were all staring steadily back at him , and his thoughts were out somewhere in the darkness following his enemy , he heard somebody laughing in the room . For a while he lay very still , listening ; but when he realized that the laughter was his own he sat up , pressing his temples between hot and trembling fingers .