So hopeless, so beyond all thought of cure,
Was a weak thing at first—this brawny witness
Shone like a savior in the old one’s eyes,
The little old one, dancing in his fury
As he repeated “Daniel”; and made doubly
Sure that Dora’s corner room was bolted.
Afterwards, remembering how the knuckled
Soldier had spat curses on that name,
“Daniel,” and had spun a scheme for them—
Perfection, he declared it, of revenge—