voluble?
accoutrement?
conspicuousness?
lugubrious?
malediction?
What would I do until my death? Was there no means of hastening this, without falling into a state of sin?
Was I secretly glad that this happened to me, perhaps to the point of not wanting to get well?
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"Not one person in hundred knows how to be silent and listen, no, nor even to conceive what a thing means. Yet only then can you detect, beyond the fatuous clamour, the silence of which the universe is made." (122)
"This time a year ago I was setting out. I am clearing out." (175)
"...it would be always a noble thing to contemplate, too noble ever to be sullied by the cogitations of a man like me, exiled in his manhood." (176)
