the kind of eyes one should have, he thought with dismay, not these red-rimmed, greedy, nervous ones of mine; no, those were the ones to have, blue, radiant, filled with a devout faith – his mother’s sometimes looked like that on Friday nights, he remembered. That was the kind of person one ought to be; better to allow oneself to be cheated on than become the cheat oneself – to be a decent, trustworthy individual. That’s the only kind of person blessed by God. All my clever ruses, he thought; they haven’t made me happy, I’m still the same blighted, restless soul.
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