The feeling that his moral
personality was at the mercy of these lawless forces was so strong that
he asked himself seriously if it were worth while to go on accomplishing
the mental functions of that existence which seemed no longer his own.
"What is the good of exerting my intelligence, of pursuing the
systematic development of my faculties and all my plans of work?" he
asked himself. "I want to guide my conduct by reasonable convictions,
but what security have I against something--some destructive
horror--walking in upon me as I sit here?..."
Razumov looked apprehensively towards the door of the outer room as if
expecting some shape of evil to turn the handle and appear before him
silently.
"A common thief," he said to himself, "finds more guarantees in the law
he is breaking, and even a brute like Ziemianitch has his consolation."
Razumov envied the materialism of the thief and the passion of the
incorrigible lover. The consequences of their actions were always clear
and their lives remained their own.
But he slept as soundly that night as though he had been consoling
himself in the manner of Ziemianitch. He dropped off suddenly, lay like
a log, remembered no dream on waking. But it was as if his soul had gone
out in the night to gather the flowers of wrathful wisdom.
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