He had, on the other hand, only to keep his antiquated honour, and be delivered inch by inch into the power of this great enemy of mankind, whose very intellect was a torture-chamber.
Whenever he looked down into the square he saw the comfortable policeman, a pillar of common sense and common order.

Whenever he looked back at the breakfast-table he saw the President still quietly studying him with big, unbearable eyes.
In all the torrent of his thought there were two thoughts that never crossed his mind.

First, it never occurred to him to doubt that the President and his Council could crush him if he continued to stand alone.

The place might be public, the project might seem impossible.
But Sunday was not the man who would carry himself thus easily without having, somehow or somewhere, set open his iron trap.

Either by anonymous poison or sudden street accident, by hypnotism or by fire from hell, Sunday could certainly strike him.