She felt that for a time at any rate her depressing struggle against continual failure was at an end. “Me and my bright ideas. Probably some woman on the loose; they were as thick as flies over here—dizzy blondes. I secured the dog after he had wounded me. "Can't you see? I can't hurt her, if … if she cares! I can't tell her I'm a madman as well as a thief!… What a fool! What a fool!" A thief. ” 129 She smiled wider. But he was destined to have every tide of feeling awakened—every wound opened.
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