 What seems to be O'Leary's internal dilemma as the story progresses?
His name was Liam O'Leary and there was something stinking in his nostrils. He was a captain of guards in Estates-General Correctional Institution—better known to its inmates as the Jug—and if he hadn't been able to detect the scent of trouble brewing a cell-block away, he would never have survived to reach his captaincy. And, what was more important, why she couldn't adjust herself to it, now that she was in. And O'Leary was a man who lived by the book. That old witch Mathias never told me I was supposed to mop up. He handed the rap sheet to Sodaro and said absently: "Too bad a kid like her has to be here. Captain O'Leary took a long drink of water from the fountain marked "Civil Service." If anything, she had had a better environment than O'Leary himself, and look what she had made of it. The direction of evolution is toward specialization and Man is no exception, but with the difference that his is the one species that creates its own environment in which to specialize. The ultimate should be the complete segregation of each specialization—social and genetic measures to make them breed true, because the unspecialized man is an uncivilized man, or at any rate he does not advance civilization. A bleary old inmate orderly stood up straight and touched his cap as O'Leary passed by. O'Leary was a broad-minded man and many times he had thought almost with a touch of envy how comfortable it must be to be a wipe—a laborer . But he kept the cars going—and, O'Leary thought approvingly, when his sentence was up in another year or so, he would go back to his life with his status restored, a mechanic on the outside as he had been inside, and he certainly would never risk coming back to the Jug by trying to pass as Civil Service or anything else. When you're in it, you don't much care what it is called; it is a place for punishment. Block O in Estates-General Correctional Institution was the disciplinary block, and because of the green straitjackets its inhabitants wore, it was called the Greensleeves. It was a community of its own, an enclave within the larger city-state that was the Jug. She was in a detachment of three unfortunates like herself, convoyed by an irritable guard, climbing the steel steps toward Block O from the floor below, when she heard the yelling.
 He says to himself that he trusts in the specialization segregation, but he has thoughts that indicate otherwise.
 He is having a hard time convincing himself of the laws that they all follow, and the validity of them.  He says to himself that he trusts in the specialization segregation, but he has thoughts that indicate otherwise.  The Warden isn't listening to him, and he's scared of overstepping his boundaries to point out the problem.  He knows that there is trouble, and he can smell it. He just can't pinpoint from where.