“Yes. He hung precariously on the ragged edge, but he hung there. I will write to your major, and you will send the letter very quickly. But in between these wider phases of comparative confidence were gaps of disconcerting doubt, when the universe was presented as making sinister and threatening faces at her, defying her to defy, preparing a humiliating and shameful overthrow. He had grabbed a tiny remote control and flew the thing around the table, landing it there and turning it off. He had not been successful as the world counted success; the fat bank-account, the filled waiting room of which he had once dreamed, had never materialized except in the smoke of his evening pipe. A white man, wandering about the streets of Canton at night, was a challenge to such a catastrophe.
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