Clinton had at his disposal all of these images and sounds, and he could review them at will. This gave him a sense of power that was akin to actual physical joy. At one moment, it even occurred to him that if he wanted to he could re-enact in his mind the moments of love-making with Shirley in Key Bonita, and with such reality that they would result in an actual orgasm. This thought alone caused his blood to rise, and for a moment he was frightened by it, intimidated by his own powers.

He knew there was another thought, an idea, growing in him, waiting to take hold of him, and that when it came, the moment of this thought, his body would again act in obedience to it; and the result would be violent, ugly. This was the thought his mind was trying to evade and postpone, as he forced it to concentrate on the highway, the sky, the waters of Lake Erie, the overwhelming present.

Now, it has been said that this state was almost pleasurable. But there was something lacking in it. The lack was profound. It was like a poison that brought fear and anxiety in equal portions with the pleasure. The fact was that Clinton was in a condition similar to that of a man to whom some evil drug has been administered. He experienced a similar, uncanny sense of power; and a similar poison as well: the total lack of any love whatsoever. And in this void was anger, anger so profound he could not even dare admit to himself its presence.

The trip from Toledo to Cleveland takes, under normal conditions, and in a decent car, about two hours and a half. Clinton made repeated efforts to maintain the legal speed limits, but as his mind was absorbed mostly by other matters, the car seemed to charge forward on its own at the rate of some eighty miles an hour. In no time at all, it seemed, Clinton was guiding the car into the driveway at Seminary Street.

There was one light burning behind the upstairs window shade of Ralph’s bedroom, but the rest of the place was dark. It had the look of disaster about it. Clinton felt that any passer-by could take one look at the house and see clearly reflected in it the anguish of the people who lived inside. In his shocked condition, with his new, keener perception of the world, he assigned qualities of sense and spirit to everything he encountered; and the house was sad; contemptuous, too, of all the wickedness that had taken place in its shelter; as he passed under the porch roof, he touched its supporting pillar and found that it had gone cold. He opened the door and went inside.