He was touched by the rod of desperation, which makes the soul protest that it is right when it knows that it is wrong.
Suddenly, breaking off his speech, he threw up his hands and made for the door.
"I will fight it out alone!" he declared with rough emotion, and at the door he turned towards them again.

He looked at them both as though he would dare them to contradict him.

The restless fire of his eyes seemed to dart from one to the other.
"That's the way it is," said the widow of Palass Poucette coming quickly forward to him.

"It's always the way.

We must fight our battles alone, but we don't have to bear the wounds alone.