in cold anger. He thought: difficult?—well, learn it. But the pain remained—and a helpless wonder. The thing he saw was so much more real than the reality of paper, office and commission. He could not understand what made others blind to it, and what made their indifference possible. He looked at the paper before him. He wondered why ineptitude should exist and have its say. He had never known that. And the reality which permitted it could never become quite real to him. But he knew that this would not last—he had to wait—it was his only assignment, to wait—what he felt didn’t matter—it had to
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