Sometimes it is harder to deprive oneself of a pain than of a pleasure. - F. Scott Fitzgerald

smoking had come to be an important punctuation mark in the long sentence of a day on the road.

It excited him, too, that many men had already loved Daisy — it increased her value in his eyes. He felt their presence all about the house, pervading the air with the shades and echoes of still vibrant emotions.

But Dick had come away for his soul's sake, and he began thinking about that. He had lost himself — he could not tell the hour when, or the day or the week, the month or the year.