"Goodbye," he whispered softly.
"I hate you!"
He left quickly, double-timing down Maple Lane between the rows of spherical houses. He didn't belong. He was an outlaw, a criminal, a maladjusted misfit—or worse. Some people are never satisfied. The police failed to understand. To them his type was lazy, shiftless. They were drones, parasites who could reap all the advantages of multiple life without working a day. They had no one to support.
But that isn't it at all, thought Simon as he ran. He could hear the approaching wail of police sirens. He must hurry. Perhaps in Boston he would get the one stroke of luck he needed, if the police didn't catch him first. It wasn't that he was lazy and lacked the sense of responsibility which would make him support a family. Everything was too patterned, too set-out-for-you, too prosaic. In his own way he courted danger and was hated for it. He sought the spice of an illicit relationship which he supposed some people always needed.
He could picture pretty Jane-Marie crying out the whole story to the police. "That man—he was a bachelor!"