How they'd laugh at him, these other
despicable human beings, if he did that! He'd prove himself as weak as
they. No, that's not for him. What then?
"This is a fantastic world, Bohun, and nothing is impossible for it.
Suppose he were to select some one, some weak and irritable and
sentimental and disappointed man, some one whose every foible and
weakness he knew, suppose he were to place himself near him and so
irritate and confuse and madden him that at last one day, in a fury of
rage and despair, that man were to do for him what he is too proud to do
for himself! Think of the excitement, the interest, the food for his
cynicism, the food for his conceit such a game would be to Semyonov. Is
this going to do it? Or this? Or this? Now I've got him far enough?
Another five minutes!... Think of the hairbreadth escapes, the check and
counter check, the sense, above all, that to a man like Semyonov is
almost everything, that he is master of human emotions, that he can
direct wretched, weak human beings whither he will.
"And the other--the weak, disappointed, excitable man--can't you see
that Semyonov has him close to his hand, that he has only to stretch a
finger--"
"Markovitch!" cried Bohun.
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