His vision, from the constantly passing bars,has grown so weary that it cannot holdanything else.
It seems to him there area thousand bars; and behind the bars, no world.
As he paces in cramped circles, over and over,the movement of his powerful soft stridesis like a ritual dance around a centerin which a mighty will stands paralyzed.
Only at times, the curtain of the pupilslifts, quietly—.
An image enters in,rushes down through the tensed, arrested muscles,plunges into the heart and is gone.
