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Chapter 1

           Hepulleditoff,butreflectingthathehadnoothersocks,hepickeditupandputitonagain—andagainhelaughed.

           “That’sallconventional,that’sallrelative,merelyawayoflookingatit,”hethoughtinaflash,butonlyonthetopsurfaceofhismind,whilehewasshudderingallover,“there,I’vegotiton!Ihavefinishedbygettingiton!”

           Buthislaughterwasquicklyfollowedbydespair.

           “No,it’stoomuchforme...”hethought.Hislegsshook.“Fromfear,”hemuttered.Hisheadswamandachedwithfever.“It’satrick!Theywanttodecoymethereandconfoundmeovereverything,”hemused,ashewentoutontothestairs—“theworstofitisI’malmostlight-headed...Imayblurtoutsomethingstupid...”

           Onthestairsherememberedthathewasleavingallthethingsjustastheywereintheholeinthewall,“andverylikely,it’sonpurposetosearchwhenI’mout,”hethought,andstoppedshort.Buthewaspossessedbysuchdespair,suchcynicismofmisery,ifonemaysocallit,thatwithawaveofhishandhewenton.“Onlytogetitover!”

           Inthestreettheheatwasinsufferableagain;notadropofrainhadfallenallthosedays.Againdust,bricksandmortar,againthestenchfromtheshopsandpot-houses,againthedrunkenmen,theFinnishpedlarsandhalf-broken-downcabs.Thesunshonestraightinhiseyes,sothatithurthimtolookoutofthem,andhefelthisheadgoinground—asamaninafeverisapttofeelwhenhecomesoutintothestreetonabrightsunnyday.

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