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While
the
rain
drizzled
on
Amory
looked
futilely
back
at
the
stream
of
his
life
,
all
its
glitterings
and
dirty
shallows
.
To
begin
with
,
he
was
still
afraid
--
not
physically
afraid
any
more
,
but
afraid
of
people
and
prejudice
and
misery
and
monotony
.
Yet
,
deep
in
his
bitter
heart
,
he
wondered
if
he
was
after
all
worse
than
this
man
or
the
next
.
He
knew
that
he
could
sophisticate
himself
finally
into
saying
that
his
own
weakness
was
just
the
result
of
circumstances
and
environment
;
that
often
when
he
raged
at
himself
as
an
egotist
something
would
whisper
ingratiatingly
:
"
No
.
Genius
!
"
That
was
one
manifestation
of
fear
,
that
voice
which
whispered
that
he
could
not
be
both
great
and
good
,
that
genius
was
the
exact
combination
of
those
inexplicable
grooves
and
twists
in
his
mind
,
that
any
discipline
would
curb
it
to
mediocrity
.
Probably
more
than
any
concrete
vice
or
failing
Amory
despised
his
own
personality
--
he
loathed
knowing
that
to-morrow
and
the
thousand
days
after
he
would
swell
pompously
at
a
compliment
and
sulk
at
an
ill
word
like
a
third-rate
musician
or
a
first-class
actor
.
He
was
ashamed
of
the
fact
that
very
simple
and
honest
people
usually
distrusted
him
;
that
he
had
been
cruel
,
often
,
to
those
who
had
sunk
their
personalities
in
him
--
several
girls
,
and
a
man
here
and
there
through
college
,
that
he
had
been
an
evil
influence
on
;
people
who
had
followed
him
here
and
there
into
mental
adventures
from
which
he
alone
rebounded
unscathed
.
Usually
,
on
nights
like
this
,
for
there
had
been
many
lately
,
he
could
escape
from
this
consuming
introspection
by
thinking
of
children
and
the
infinite
possibilities
of
children
--
he
leaned
and
listened
and
he
heard
a
startled
baby
awake
in
a
house
across
the
street
and
lend
a
tiny
whimper
to
the
still
night
.
Quick
as
a
flash
he
turned
away
,
wondering
with
a
touch
of
panic
whether
something
in
the
brooding
despair
of
his
mood
had
made
a
darkness
in
its
tiny
soul
.
He
shivered
.
What
if
some
day
the
balance
was
overturned
,
and
he
became
a
thing
that
frightened
children
and
crept
into
rooms
in
the
dark
,
approached
dim
communion
with
those
phantoms
who
whispered
shadowy
secrets
to
the
mad
of
that
dark
continent
upon
the
moon
...
Amory
smiled
a
bit
.
"
You
're
too
much
wrapped
up
in
yourself
,
"
he
heard
some
one
say
.
And
again
--
"
Get
out
and
do
some
real
work
--
"
"
Stop
worrying
--
"
He
fancied
a
possible
future
comment
of
his
own
.
"
Yes
--
I
was
perhaps
an
egotist
in
youth
,
but
I
soon
found
it
made
me
morbid
to
think
too
much
about
myself
.
"
Suddenly
he
felt
an
overwhelming
desire
to
let
himself
go
to
the
devil
--
not
to
go
violently
as
a
gentleman
should
,
but
to
sink
safely
and
sensuously
out
of
sight
.
