A white man, wandering about the streets of Canton at night, was a challenge to such a catastrophe. But what did the occupant of the box care? The laugh was always with the dead: they were out of the muddle. “I think,” he said, “that you have found the real home of the lotus-eaters. But I am sick of tearing up letters and hopeless of getting what I have to say better said. And he began also at times to wake at night and think about her. I’ve got to stay at home and remain in a state of suspended animation. ” “I realize I can’t see my mom or brother again. She had discussed the general question of supplies with the helpful landlady. ’ ‘How exciting. Restlessness, then, was the trouble, simple restlessness: home bored her.
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