His confidence in himself, at best of
times uncertain because of the severity of the roads which led to
manhood, was all but extinguished.
There had been so little margin for error in his life, and worse had
come to worst so many times, that he could not help but wonder if he
possessed some terrible flaw, some shortcoming which made failure
inevitable. But when he looked at this more closely, he knew in his
heart that he had always done his best: that he had taken the only paths
open to him, that he had never quit, or expected anything to be easy or
free.
What was it then that defeated him? To this he had no answer, only
frustrated rage that having no release, turned inward upon itself. The
bitter maze of his emotions had joined together into a tightly knotted
and irremovable clot, blocking out all light and making life, even the
simplest continuance, seem utterly impossible.
And yet another element had been thrown into the balance. He had
discovered, almost suddenly, the depths of his love for Sylviana. And
while this might have comforted him and been a source or quiet strength,
two nagging fears had risen alongside it, which in his present state
seemed undeniable. First, though he knew she cared for him, and in her
way even loved him, that was now, when her need was greatest and there
was no one else to choose from.
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