LUCAS. [Partly to himself.] But I made my mark. I did make my mark.

AGNES. Supporting the Party that retards; the Party that preserves for
the rich, palters with the poor. [Pointing to the letters again.] Oh,
there's not much to mourn for there!

LUCAS. Still, it was--success.

AGNES. Success!

LUCAS. I was talked about, written about, as a Coming Man--the Coming
Man!

AGNES. How many "coming men" has one known? Where on earth do they all
go to?

LUCAS. Ah, yes, but I allowed for the failure, and carefully set myself
to discover the causes of them. And, as I put my fingers upon the
causes and examined them, I congratulated myself and said "Well, I
haven't that weak point in my armour, or that;" and Agnes, at last I
was fool enough to imagine I had no weak point, none whatever.

AGNES. It was weak enough to believe that.

LUCAS. I couldn't foresee that I was doomed to pay the price all
nervous men pay for success; that the greater my success became, the
more cancer-like grew the fear of never being able to continue it, to
excel it; that the triumph of today was always to be the torture of
tomorrow! Oh, Agnes, the agony of success to a nervous, sensitive man;
the dismal apprehension that fills his life and gives each victory a