“Because I’m good at it,” he said, sounding agitated now. “I am bloody great at it. And I was never good at anything. Because it’s the one place where I know that my success is mine, and my failure, too. In the ring, I might be facing an Irish dock laborer or an English tanner or an American freedman. When the bell rings, none of it matters worth a damn. It’s only me. My strength, my heart, my wits, my fists. Nothing I was given, nothing I took. I fight because it tells me who I am.”
