He acknowledged his weakness, and sought a counteracting strength, but found none.

But why should he fight against good fortune?
It was not his fault that certain conditions existed.

Why not starve the past and feed the present?
But he had begun to argue, and he shook himself as though he would be freed from something that had taken hold of him, and he got up and stood at the window.

How raw the night! And as he stood there, he fancied that the darkness and the sleet of his boyhood were trying to force their way into the warmth and the light of his new inheritance.
He turned suddenly about, and bowing with mock politeness, said to himself: "You are a fool." He lighted his pipe afresh, and sat down to work.

Some one tapped at the door.