"Speaking of things you don't want any part of--what about Johnny Simms?
Speaking as a psychiatrist, what effect will that business of being in
the dark all night and nearly being pecked to death--what will it do to
him? Are psychopaths the way they are because they can't face reality,
or because they've never had to?"
Holden stared away down the incredible, lifeless coastline at the
distant storm. There was darkness under many layers of cloud. The sea
foamed and lashed and instantly was free of foam again. Because there
were no plankton, no animalcules, no tiny, gluey, organic beings in it
to give the water the property of making foam which endured. There was
thunder, yonder in the storm, and no ear heard it. Over a vast world
there was sunshine which no eyes saw. There was night in which nothing
rested, and somewhere dawn was breaking now, and nothing sang.
"Look at that, Jed," said Holden heavily. "There's a reality none of us
wants to face! We're all more or less fugitives from what we are afraid
is reality. That is real, and it makes me feel small and futile. So I
don't like to look at it. Johnny Simms didn't want to face what one does
grow up to face.
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