Grayson, what it all means. I am ashamed of myself now,
and yet I know I shall do it again."
"No," I said, "you will not do it again."
"Yes, I shall. Something inside of me argues: Why should you be sorry?
Were you not free for a whole afternoon?"
"Free?" I asked.
"Yes--free. You will not understand. But every day I work, work, work. I
have friends, but somehow I can't get to them; I can't even get to my
wife. It seems as if a wall hemmed me in, as if I were bound to a rock
which I couldn't get away from, I am also afraid. When I am sober I know
how to do great things, but I can't do them. After a few glasses--I
never take more--I not only know I can do great things, but I feel as
though I were really doing them."
"But you never do?"
"No, I never do, but I _feel_ that I can. All the bonds break and the
wall falls down and I am free. I can really touch people. I feel
friendly and neighbourly."
He was talking eagerly now, trying to explain, for the first time in his
life, he said, how it was that he did what he did. He told me how
beautiful it made the world, where before it was miserable and
friendless, how he thought of great things and made great plans, how his
home seemed finer and better to him, and his work more noble.
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