The trim beard of Darnley Otter might wag on⁠ ⁠… like a brave bowsprit “stemming nightly to the pole”⁠ ⁠… but the keel of every human vessel had a leak⁠ ⁠… it was only a question of chance⁠ ⁠… just pure chance⁠ ⁠… how far that leak would go⁠ ⁠… any wagging beard⁠ ⁠… any brave chin might have to cry, at any moment, “Hold, enough!”⁠ ⁠…

And suddenly, in the covering darkness, Wolf took off his hat and stretched back his head, straining his neck as far as it would go, so that without relaxing the movement of walking, his upturned face might become horizontal. In this position he made a hideous grimace into infinity⁠—a grimace directed at the Governing Power of the Universe. What he desired to express in this grimace was an announcement that his own secret happiness had not “squared” him.⁠ ⁠…

His mind rushed upwards like a rocket among those distant stars. He imagined himself standing on some incredible promontory on the faintest star he could see. Even from that vantage he wanted to repeat his defiance⁠—not “squared” yet, O crafty universe!⁠—not “squared” yet!