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 that all veils had been discarded and his essential nature stood revealed, he would never again hide it from the world. Let the world react as it saw fit. Enemies and revilers there might be a-plenty, but he had plumbed the depths of any suffering they could inflict. They had sought to make him like themselves by locking him up, but had merely succeeded in confirming his incompatibility with themselves.

For decency's sake, and in order to reassure those who had been kind to him, he planned, in the morning, to make a round of farewell calls. Phœbe he would leave till the last, for she would be the most difficult—especially if she adopted an absolving attitude now that he had settled his account with society. That would be an intolerable weakness on her part, against which he must guard by an impersonal approach. He could find it in his heart to envy Wilfrid his insipidity. As a child Wilfrid had Gritty Kestrell to protect him. In his maturity, he would have Phœbe. And Wilfrid was of a mental and moral stature that Phœbe could manage, with energy to spare for the "improvement of her mind." One couldn't help feeling a little sarcastic toward Phœbe—in strict privacy. Gritty had said, "At least she's the only girl in that God-forsaken hole with a nickel's worth of brains." That wasn't the final word to be said for Phœbe, but it was wickedly near the mark.

Sleep came at last, while his soul, like a kite, tugged pleasantly at his leaden body. His mind had gone beyond the farewells and he drowsily pictured himself in a train, speeding, speeding, towards infinity. Night drawing in, wheels grinding, the carriage swaying, the world rushing by: the globe, the stars, trees, men. Something infinitely precious, but dead, left behind. Life, a series of partial deaths, or of new creations; merely two ways of stating it. And at the heart of it all was a blessed stability; harmony, forgetfulness, peace.