But there's an awful paranoiac element sometimes in orgasm that suddenly releases not sweet genteel sympathy but some token venom that splits up in the body—I feel a great ghastly hatred of myself and everything, the empty feeling far from being the usual relief is now as tho I’ve been robbed of my spinal power right down the middle on purpose by a great witching force—I feel evil forces gathering down all around me, from her, the kid, the very walls of the cabin, the trees, even the sudden thought of Dave Wain and Romana is evil, they're all coming now—I leave poor Billie face in hand and rush off to drink water in the creek but every time I do something like that I have to run back to be sorry and say so, but the moment I see her again “She's doing something else” I leer and I dont feel sorry at all—She’s mumbling face in hands and the little boy’s crying at her side—“My God she should get to a nunnery!” I think rushing back to the creek—Suddenly the water in the creek tastes different as tho somebody's thrown gasoline or kerosene in it upstream—“Maybe those neighbors wanta get back at me that’s what!”—I taste the water carefully and I’m positive that’s what happened.
Like an idiot I’m sitting by the creek staring when Dave Wain comes striding down with one fish on the line and his big cheerful western twang as tho nothing unusual’s happened “Well boy I spent a whole two hours and look what I got! one measly but beautiful pathetic as you'll see holy little rainbow sea trout that I’m now going to clean—Now the way to clean fish is as follows,” and he kneels innocently by the creek to
