A new inexplicable madness that urged him to shrill ironically the story of his coat—to take it off and fling it at the feet of any stranger who chanced to be nigh. “I might go home, I don’t know. Not then. ‘But if you must fight so furiously, I don’t see how I can promise not to do it again. ‘I can manage now. But what I do is based upon the fact that he is one of those individuals who are conscience-driven. What would you? I cannot fight them all. And I want him out of uniform. It is enough to make a man throw away canvas and brushes into the bottomless precipices, enough to make one weep with despair at his utter and absolute impotence. Such pretty manners, she thought.
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