“I’m going,” I said, “but not until I have told you.”
“What?”
“Why I ask to cancel our bargain.”
“Oh,” she said. “I thought that was quite done with.”
“Well, then, why you are bored.”
“Yes,” she said, “why I am bored. You will tell me that?”
Her profile was in silhouette against the black of the chair. She was smiling derisively.
“It is because you have imprisoned yourself in a lonely castle,” I said. “You used that figure of speech yourself when we were making the bargain. ‘It is my castle,’ you said. Therefore you know it. The name of that castle is Selfishness. The name of your jailer is Vera Afraid. What you fear is life, for its pain and scars. You hail it from afar. You call it inside the walls under penalities. It must be good. It shall not bite or scratch or kiss you. You are too precious to be touched.”
“You haven’t named the prisoner,” she said, slowly.
“She is Vera Desireful,” I said. “She is starved for life, for the bread of participation.... She lives upon the poisonous crusts of phantasy. She is probably in danger of going mad. Her dreams are terrible.”