|
The excerpt represents the core issue or deciding factor on which you must meditate, and is drawn from The Secret Agent by Joseph Conrad: spot of his secret weakness. If she would go on sulking in that
dreadful overcharged silence - why then she must. She was a master
in that domestic art. Mr Verloc flung himself heavily upon the
sofa, disregarding as usual the fate of his hat, which, as if
accustomed to take care of itself, made for a safe shelter under
the table.
He was tired. The last particle of his nervous force had been
expended in the wonders and agonies of this day full of surprising
failures coming at the end of a harassing month of scheming and
insomnia. He was tired. A man isn't made of stone. Hang
everything! Mr Verloc reposed characteristically, clad in his
 The Secret Agent |