"I am all right." But as to supposing that he had
been forgotten it was perfect nonsense. He was a marked man on that
side. And that was nothing. It was what that miserable phantom stood for
which had to be got out of the way.... "If one only could go and spit
it all out at some of them--and take the consequences."
He imagined himself accosting the red-nosed student and suddenly shaking
his fist in his face. "From that one, though," he reflected, "there's
nothing to be got, because he has no mind of his own. He's living in
a red democratic trance. Ah! you want to smash your way into universal
happiness, my boy. I will give you universal happiness, you silly,
hypnotized ghoul, you! And what about my own happiness, eh? Haven't I
got any right to it, just because I can think for myself?..."
And again, but with a different mental accent, Razumov said to himself,
"I am young. Everything can be lived down." At that moment he was
crossing the room slowly, intending to sit down on the sofa and try to
compose his thoughts. But before he had got so far everything abandoned
him--hope, courage, belief in himself trust in men. His heart had, as it
were, suddenly emptied itself. It was no use struggling on. Rest, work,
solitude, and the frankness of intercourse with his kind were alike
forbidden to him.
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