You think I am.

But I'm not.
And I'm too tired to tell you how I left my happy, happy home." In the rosy gray of the dawn he sat down on the steps of his new lodgings and gazed quietly into space.
"_This_ isn't going to help," he said.

"I can stand years of it yet.

And that's much too long." He brooded for a few moments.
"I hope she doesn't write me again.

I can't stand everything." He got up with an ugly, oblique glance at the reddening sky.
"I'm what he's made me--and I've got to let her alone.