Deleted Section 4

What a mess, this stupefied and gutted man had made out of his career. As Santoro's sibylline gaze walked down from the tall bookcase on the wall, I wished I could say goodbye, because I would miss him. But he'd already left, and in my inner self I knew I wouldn't see him again. In a certain sense, I had gambled with Santoro's career and lost. In my own formative years, I'd often been associated with the cause of terrorism, the hard fighters of the left, a child of the Communist Party, a tall banner, the Red Flag. Had I followed the providential guidance of an ideal that was antithetical to a life of labor, had I stood up for this ideal, Santoro would never have gotten involved in the project he pursued without reservations. I'd never have asked him to be on the undercover squad, because I knew he was destined for an honored place, not a police search engine. How could he have been there at all?