Troeltsch taken ill: the regimen rolling on without him
There are the sad tiny distant-champagne-cork sounds of scores of balls being hit down at the East Courts. [...] the squeak of Troeltsch's bedsprings as he thrashes and twitches in a moist half-sleep.
Context
While Troeltsch's body is down, the academy's does not pause: "scores of balls being hit down at the East Courts" drift up under his window, the regimen's steady pock going on without him. The sick body is reduced to the squeak of bedsprings, sidelined from the drill-machine that keeps grinding a hundred meters away — the institution measured by the fact that it never stops for one failed instrument.