I stayed up all night working, and now I'm completely shattered.
The eye is under-accommodated for near objects but over-accommodated for distant ones.
I hadn't even taken time to wonder what in hell she wanted with me: only the terror after the boy put the note in my hand and I found privacy to open and read it and still (the terror) in the courage, desperation, despair—call it whatever you like and whatever it was and wherever I found it — to cross to the door and open it and think as I always had each time I was near, either to dance with her or merely to challenge and give twenty or thirty pounds to an impugner of her honor: Why, she cant possibly be this small, this little, apparently standing only inches short of my own six feet yet small, little; too small to have displaced enough of my peace to contain this much unsleep, to have disarranged this much of what I had at least thought was peace.
JAMES CARTER: Mr. Rice-a-Roni; don't even speak American.
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