There was plenty of whisky in the house--for my guests.

I never touched it.

I grew afraid of my revolver--afraid during the period in which the radiant, flashing vision of the PEOPLE was forming in my mind and will.

So obsessed was I with the desire to die that I feared I might commit the act in my sleep, and I was compelled to give my revolver away to others who were to lose it for me where my subconscious hand might not find it.
But the PEOPLE saved me.

By the PEOPLE was I handcuffed to life.