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Does an easing of the soul take place when you realize your worst expectations have been fulfilled? Not in my case.
I have a sense of fighting to the last man, and the last man is me.
Or put another way: how much of our human feeling can we dispense with in the name of freedom, would you say, before we cease to feel either human or free? Or were we simply suffering from the incurable English disease of needing to play the world’s game when we weren’t world players any more?
