Suddenly he came to a halt and stood once more over me.
"Now you know what kind of a fellow I am, what do you think of me ?" It was a brutal question to fling at my head.

It gave me no time to co-ordinate my ideas.

What was one to make of a man avowedly subject to fits of the most despicable cowardice from the consequences of which he used any unscrupulous craftiness to extricate himself, and yet was notorious in his achievement of deeds of the most reckless courage?
It is a problem to which I have devoted all the months occupied in waiting this book.

How the dickens could I solve it at a minute's notice?
The situation was too blatant, too raw, too near bedrock, too naked and unashamed, for me to take refuge in platitudinous generalities of excuse.

The bravest of men know Fear.