“Do you mean to say it is all nothing to you—that you have ruined your own career for ever, and killed Grahl—your friend—your teacher? After that—oh, but you must be insane, there’s no other word for it.”
“Very well, then.”
“Were you drunk?”
“Drunk? No, I wasn’t drunk. But do let’s talk of something else. It’s no good discussing this any more. It’s done, and can’t be undone. I am going back home—to Iceland. There’s a boat leaving tomorrow. Take off your coat, won’t you—you’re going to stay now? Mix yourself a drink, man, do.”
“No, thank you.” Blad spoke coldly, flinging out his words, and pacing the floor excitedly.
“Have I hurt you too? I can’t think how I could have done that. Surely you can’t feel hurt at my being what I am, and doing what I can’t help doing? I asked you to stay just now, because I thought you were my friend. If you are no longer my friend, then you had better go.”
“Really, I almost fancy you would like to turn me out now because I decline to drink with you to Grahl’s happy decease. By Heaven, you do not deserve that I should stay.”
“Oh, you damned fool—who’s talking about what I deserve!”
Blad stopped suddenly, as if paralysed by the word. Then in a voice heavy with emotion, he said:
“Ormarr—that was the first ugly word I have ever heard you use. And it was said to me—to me!”