“It was as if he was saying good-bye to a man who was going to step into a cannon and be fired to the moon, or dropped in an iron chamber to the bottom of the sea, a veritable Houdini. He grasped both of Gilmore’s hands and it didn’t matter if the man was a murderer, he could just as well have been a saint, for either at this moment seemed equally beyond Schiller’s way of measure – and he said, he heard it come out of him, “I don’t know what I’m here for.”
