I had seen it all before, or something like it.

The six years I had spent in Denboro, the six everlasting, idle, monotonous years, had had their effect.

I had grown hardened and had come to accept my fate, at first rebelliously, then with more of Lute's peculiar kind of philosophy.
Circumstances had doomed me to be a good-for-nothing, a gentleman loafer without the usual excuse--money--and, as it was my doom, I forced myself to accept it, if not with pleasure, at least with resignation.

And I determined to get whatever pleasure there might be in it.

So, when I saw the majority of the human race, each with a purpose in life, struggling to attain that purpose, I passed them by with my gun or fishing rod on my shoulder, and a smile on my lips.