So long as he went of his own free will to face danger and death, so long as he had death, even though it seemed terrible, in his own hands, he felt at ease.

He was even cheerful; in the sensation of boundless freedom, of brave and firm conviction of his fearless will, his little, shrunken, womanish fear was drowned, leaving no trace.

With an infernal machine at his girdle, he made the cruel force of dynamite his own, also its fiery death-bearing power.

And as he walked along the street, amidst the bustling, plain people, who were occupied with their affairs, who were hurriedly avoiding the dangers from the horses of carriages and cars, he seemed to himself as a stranger from another, unknown world, where neither death nor fear was known.
And suddenly this harsh, wild, stupefying change.

He can no longer go where he pleases, but he is led where others please.