I cannot hope to give any idea of the strange
mingling of regret, malice, pride, pain, scorn, and humour that those
eyes showed. His red lips parted as though he would speak, for a moment
he turned away from me and looked down the black tunnel of the street,
then he walked forward again.
"You are wrong, my friend," he said, "if you imagine that there is no
amusement for me in the study of my family. It _is_ my family, you know.
I have none other. Perhaps it has never occurred to you, Durward, that
possibly I am a lonely man."
As he spoke I heard again the echo of that voice as it vanished into the
darkness.... "No one?" and the answer: "No one."...
"Don't imagine," he continued, "that I am asking for your pity. That
indeed would be humorous. I pity no one, and I despise the men who have
it to bestow... but there are situations in life that are intolerable,
Ivan Andreievitch, and any man who _is_ a man will see that he escapes
from such a thing. May I not find in the bosom of my family such an
escape?" He laughed.
"I know nothing about that," I began hotly. "All I know is--"
But he went on as though he had not heard me.
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