I had thought that I had bankrupted my spirit, but I found that there was a new passion in me to which my past sufferings taught no lesson.

My uneasiness would not let me rest a moment longer.
I rose to my feet, holding on by the bed, and staggered to the tent pole.

I was weak, but not so very weak that I could not make one last effort.

It maddened me that I should have done so much and yet fail at the end.
From a nail on the tent pole hung a fragment of looking-glass which Arcoll used for shaving.

I caught a glimpse of my face in it, white and haggard and lined, with blue bags below the eyes.