If that's your
plan I'm going to prevent it."
"Why, Ivan Andreievitch," he cried, laughing, "this is a challenge."
"You can take it as what you please," I answered gravely.
"But, incorrigible sentimentalist," he went on, "tell me--are you,
English and moralist and believer in a good and righteous God as you
are, are you really going to encourage this abominable adultery, this
open, ruthless wrecking of a good man's home? You surprise me; this is a
new light on your otherwise rather uninteresting character."
"Never mind my character," I answered him; "all you've got to do is to
leave Vera Michailovna alone. There'll be no wrecking of homes, unless
you are the wrecker."
He put his hand on my arm again.
"Listen, Durward," he said, "I'll tell you a little story. I'm a doctor
you know, and many curious things occur within my province. Well, some
years ago I knew a man who was very miserable and very proud. His pride
resented that he should be miserable, and he was always suspecting that
people saw his weakness, and as he despised human nature, and thought
his companions fools and deserving of all that they got, and more, he
couldn't bear the thought that they should perceive that he allowed
himself to be unhappy.
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