"No. It had been better when the weather had matched his inner climate, when his nose had run, his lips had cracked, and his hands had chapped and bled clenching the steering wheel. At least then, in February and March, he had the sense of combat, the bitter exhilaration that grew from pride in his own stoic courage. Now the spring sun was melting it all into mush, and Ralph was invaded by terror lest the trap he had spent these lonely months preparing with such patient care would spring (maybe it had already sprung!), only to leave him, its designer, caught beyond any possibility of release or rescue."