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What I regularly wonder is why teen novels can still pull me in the way modern adult fiction cannot : is it that I 'm too worn out to read properly ? It 's only as I come within 20 feet of the cop and his cruiser that I realize they're both life-size cutouts , convincing facsimiles designed to scare the hell out of scofflaws and slow them down . However , I was conscious that I had given him some cause for complaint , and therefore , I apologized to him , and assured him I would do what I could to avoid falling asleep for the future , and at the same time , in as few words as possible , I explained to him that I was ill , and in a weak state from long suffering , and that I could not afford , at that time , to take an inside place . When I was writing it , I had the feeling that I 'd trained all my life to write this book . To this constant exposure to the open air I ascribe it mainly , that I did not sink under my torments .