"But it's true enough. You're going to be
bothered with me--I _do_ seem a worry to you, don't I?--for only a few
days more. And how's it going to end, do you think? Who's going to
finish me off? Nicholas or Vera? Or perhaps our English Byron, Lawrence?
Or even yourself? Have you your revolver with you? I shall offer no
resistance, I promise you."
Suddenly he changed. He came closer to me. His weary, exhausted eyes
gazed straight into mine: "Ivan Andreievitch, never mind about the
rest--never mind whether you do or don't hate me, that matters to
nobody. What I tell you is the truth. I have come to you, as I have
always come to you, like the moth to the flame. Why am I always pursuing
you? Is it for the charm and fascination of your society? Your wit? Your
beauty? I won't flatter you--no, no, it's because you alone, of all
these fools here, knew her. You knew her as no one else alive knew her.
She liked you--God knows why! At least I do know why--it was because of
her youth and innocence and simplicity, because she didn't know a wise
man from a fool, and trusted all alike.... But you knew her, you knew
her.
Pages:
506
507
508
509
510
511
512
513
514
515
516
517
518
519
520
521
522
523
524
525
526
527
528
529
530