“All that belongs to me, and I can keep it all my life if I want to. It took me some time, sitting there, to make myself believe it. That was the main thing I'd hoped to accomplish. Fred and the advertising agency and the gold letter on the door of our office had never become real to me—and I knew that unless I could make myself know and feel in some way that the thing was real, I might go through my whole life in it as sort of exteriorized dream—somebody else's dream again, and maybe die old, fat and rich without ever having live or been myself at all—without ever knowing whether I like it or not.”