I got into the cart, thanking him as best I could, a bit sad to have to part with him. During the journey, which seemed endless, I was thinking that I had arrived at a cross–roads where part of my freedom would have to be abandoned, that I was harnessed, you know, like that horse pulling the cart in front of me its rump heaving up and down, its hide shining with sweat, smelling the smell of physical pain under the blows of the sun and the blows of the whip. And I was thinking that I had left behind me a cheminot with a heart for whom, in return for his goodness to me, I could do absolutely nothing! I felt truly frustrated, Frank. It was a feeling as strong as that of a marred act of revenge. It leaves us with a bitter taste of failure. Worse, it makes us feel impotent, weak in our limbs an
