Even better than eating would be the
satisfaction of knowing that he had shown himself stronger than his
lower animal appetite. No; he would not give in.
Hardly a minute after he had arrived at this resolution Vandover found
himself drawing on his coat and shoes making ready to go out--to go out
and eat.
The gas in the room was lit, his money, the nickel and the two dimes,
was shut in one of his fists. He was dressing himself with one hand,
dressing with feverish, precipitate haste. What had happened? He
marvelled at himself, but did not check his preparations an instant. He
could not stop, whether he would or no; there was something in him
stronger than himself, something that urged him on his feet, that drove
him out into the street, something that clamoured for food and that
would not be gainsaid. It was the animal in him, the brute, that would
be fed, the evil, hideous brute grown now so strong that Vandover could
not longer resist it--the brute that had long since destroyed all his
finer qualities but that still demanded to be fed, still demanded to
live.
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