...haven't I said? ( He has, perhaps, said nothing of the sort, but then, he speaks these truths so often to his own mind, in the hours of his solitude. They become him. )
The old man. That wretched, foul creature. He thinks... I'm a beast. Impulsive. He thinks I cannot be contained. I'm angry. He hates that in himself. He wants it removed. So he hates me, and he wants me removed.
( Like men always do with the things and people who closely remind them of themselves. )
Re: the prisoner
...haven't I said? ( He has, perhaps, said nothing of the sort, but then, he speaks these truths so often to his own mind, in the hours of his solitude. They become him. )
The old man. That wretched, foul creature. He thinks... I'm a beast. Impulsive. He thinks I cannot be contained. I'm angry. He hates that in himself. He wants it removed. So he hates me, and he wants me removed.
( Like men always do with the things and people who closely remind them of themselves. )