. . .

Then the look in Tom’s eyes softens.

“You must know it too,” he says, “mustn’t you?”

“Pardon?”

“There is a fire in you, isn’t there, Mr. Loggins? An unfinished destiny? Something that was set aside for you, but which you were never strong enough to reach? Something you were for but —

“What’s the point? No, better to abandon dreams. Better to settle for a life without purpose than to grasp without success at dreams. You set it all aside, you drowned the little fires in you, you could not weave them together into a flame, and now —

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