"Well," MacDonald said, "you had your hunt."

"Yes, sir."

"And you lost your tail, just like I said you would."

Andrews did not speak.

"That was what you wanted, wasn't it?" MacDonald asked.

"Maybe it was, in the beginning," Andrews said. "Part of it, at least."

"Young people," MacDonald said. "Always wanting to start from scratch. I know. You never figured that someone else knew what you was trying to do, did you?"

"I never thought about it," Andrews said. "Maybe because I didn't know what I was trying to do myself."

"Do you know now?"

Andrews moved restlessly.

"Young people," MacDonald said contemptuously. "You always think there's something to find out."

"Yes, sir," Andrews said.

"Well, there's nothing," MacDonald said. "You get born, and you nurse on lies, and you get weaned on lies, and you learn fancier lies in school. You live all your life on lies, and then maybe when you're ready to die, it comes to you——that there's nothing, nothing but yourself and what you could have done. Only you ain't done it, because the lies told you there was something else. Then you know that you could of had the world, because you're the only one that knows the secret; only then it's too late. You're too old."

There is no end to suffering in this world. There is no end to pain. However, in all this suffering, a great mystery is hidden. Nothing else will produce such a complete good as pain can. Pain does not discriminate and you cannot escape it. Nobody can take pain away from you. You may even be a king; however, if pain seizes you, you will have to bear it.