He was holding out. He would keep on holding out. He had discovered that everything depended on holding out, and that if he did he would get the better of them. Was it really a question of getting the better of them? That was another problem he would have to solve eventually. He had thought a great deal—too much. Thinking, too, was dangerous. He must stick to a strict discipline. When he thought he’d get the better of them, it simply meant that he’d get out. And the term “get out” wasn’t limited to the place he was in now. It was amazing how, outside, words were used without anyone paying any attention to what they meant. He certainly wasn’t well educated, but then there were lots like him—in fact, most poeple were like him—and now he realized that he had always been satisfied with words that were just approximations. This question of the meaning of words had lasted him two days. Maybe it would come back to him later. In any case, it was the eighteenth day, that was an absolute certainty.
