Passing back and forth the bars his gaze is grown so weary that it doesn't grasp anything any more. To him it's as if there were a thousand bars and behind the thousand bars, no world.
The supple gait of easy, strong steps, turning round in the narrowest circle, is like a dance of power around a center where a great will stands stolid.
Just once in a while the curtain of the pupils lifts silently--. Then an image enters and passes through the tense stillness of the limbs--and fades when it reaches the heart.