There was silence deep as death,
And the boldest held his breath,
For a time.

He spoke through a silence

He was holding his breath so as not to inhale the odor of democracy.

Silence hung in the air like secret loss.

But, as he walked, King Arthur panted hard,
Like one that feels a nightmare on his bed
When all the house is mute. So sighed

His silence made him feel ashamed, as if by keeping quiet he was mocking the others. And like a punishment there grew, alongside his shame, a feeling of loneliness. Teodoro was a man set apart, silenced by a secret.

He is the child of his silence.

Not deep his sorrow who in silence grieves.

Wait for it; it will fall so quiet, hardly more than a faint roughness snagging the air in the ear's chambers. ... And begins once more. The panting reaches up up up down down down to that awe-ful groan!

A well-practiced prayer that he knew how to do. So he did, whispering the words aloud.
In all, he was relieved that no one answered.

وعانى مرارة الانتظار فى صمت كئيب.

Just before light, when it's supposed to be darkest, the body's at its lowest ebb and in the hospital on the hill old people die the night opens, a Black hole between stars, and from it comes a deep panting. Very distant and at once very close, right in the year, for the sound of breath is always intimate.It grows and gorws, a rising groan lifs out of the curved bars of the cage and hangs above the whole city -- And then it drops back, sinks away, becomes panting again.

Whenever he was asked what somebody had died of he'd reply (with immense gravity), "Lack of breath.

They took silence for assent, as the zealous often do.