He coveted death. If it meant extinction he could
imagine nothing pleasanter than so restful an aloofness, quiet and apart
and alone, whilst others hurried and scrambled and pursued the
future....
"And if death did not mean extinction then he thought that he might
snatch and secure for himself something which in life had eluded him. So
he coveted death. But he was too proud to reach it by suicide. That
seemed to him a contemptible and cowardly evasion, and such an easy
solution would have denied the purpose of all his life. So he looked
about him and discovered amongst his friends a man whose character he
knew well, a man idealistic and foolish and romantic, like yourself,
Ivan Andreievitch, only caring more for ideas, more impulsive and more
reckless. He found this man and made him his friend. He played with him
as a cat does with a mouse. He enjoyed life for about a year and then he
was murdered...."
"Murdered!" I exclaimed.
"Yes--shot by his idealistic friend. I envy him that year. He must have
experienced many breathless sensations. When the murderer was tried his
only explanation was that he had been irritated and disappointed.
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