At times he heard, deep in his heart, a very faint, still voice that quietly admonished him, quietly lamented, so it could barely be perceived. At such times he became aware for an hour or so that he was leading a strange life, that he was doing nothing but playing a mere game, that although he might be serene and might sometimes feel joy, true life was nevertheless passing him by without touching him. The way a ball player plays with the ball, so did he play with his business, with the people around him, watching them, finding amusement in them; his heart, the wellspring of his being, was not
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