..."
"No," I said shortly, "I never had one."
"No--of course--not. I only thought.... But of course you
wouldn't--no--no.... Well, as I was saying, you'd better leave us all to
our fate. You can't prevent things--you can't indeed." I looked at him
without speaking. He returned my gaze.
"Tell me one thing," I said, "before I answer you. What are you doing to
Markovitch, Alexei Petrovitch?"
"Markovitch!" He repeated the name with an air of surprise as though he
had never heard it before. "What do you mean?"
"You have some plan with regard to him," I said. "What is it?"
He laughed then. "I a plan! My dear Durward, how romantic you always
insist on being! I a plan! Your plunges into Russian psychology are as
naive as the girl who pays her ten kopecks to see the Fat Woman at the
Fair! Markovitch and I understand one another. We trust one another. He
is a simple fellow, but I trust him."
"Do you remember," I said, "that the other day at the Jews' Market you
told me the story of the man who tortured his friend, until the man shot
him--simply because he was tired of life and too proud to commit
suicide.
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