And I say that the mind absorbed in and involved in itself as a self-centered end,
to the exclusion of human relationships, can only lead to violence and pain.
"When I was retarded I had lots of friends. Now I have no one. Oh, I know lots of people. Lots and lots of people.
But I don't have any real friends. Not like I used to have in the bakery.
Not a friend in the world who means anything to me, and no one I mean anything to."
I discovered that my speech was becoming slurred, and there was a lightness in my head.
"That can't be right, can it?" I insisted. "I mean, what do you think? Do you think that's... that's right?"
Strauss came over and took my arm. "Charlie, maybe you'd better lie down a while. You've had too much to drink."
"Why y'all looking at me like that? What did I say wrong? Did I say something wrong? I din't mean to say anything that wasn't right."
I heard the words thick in my mouth, as if my face had been shot full of novocaine. I was drunk—completely out of control.
At that moment, almost with the flick of a switch, I was watching the scene from the dining room doorway,
and I could see myself as the other Charlie—there near the sideboard, drink in hand, eyes wide and frightened.
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