Just as in a cheap farce the sorry hero is the centre of an intrigue, the ramifications of which everyone in the audience has long since realized, and only he, poor innocent, goes on playing in deadly earnest, blissfully unaware of the net in which he is entangled (although the others have known its every thread and every mesh from the outset)—so everyone at Kekesfalva must have seen me blundering about in this foolish blind-man’s-buff of the emotions until at last she had torn the bandage violently from my eyes.
