Early in his confinement the conviction took root in him

that he was going mad. It was as though there were

a quantity of dark yet vivid personalities in his mind,

some of them familiar, some of them strange and terrible,

held in check by a little monitor, who sat aloft

somewhere and looked on. The thing that worried him was

that the monitor was sick, and holding out with difficulty.

Should he give up, should he falter for a moment,

out would rush these intolerable things — only Zelenyi could know

what black state might prevail should his consciousness roam unchecked.

________________________________________________________

Paraphrases from the novel The Beautiful and the Damned by F. Scott Fitzgerald.

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