Novikoff thought that this was pose on his friend’s part, and mindful of his own bitter disappointment he inwardly observed:
“That’s true.”
Then after a while he asked:
“How do you mean that it is of no use?”
To this question Yourii could give no exact answer, and he remained silent. Novikoff examined the picture once more, and then lay down on the sofa.
“I read your article in the Krai,” he said. “It was pretty hot.”
“The deuce take it!” replied Yourii, angrily, yet unable to account for his anger, as he remembered Semenoff’s words. “What good will it do? It won’t stop executions and robberies and violence; they will go on just as before. Articles won’t help matters. For what purpose, pray? To be read by two or three idiots! Much good that is! After all, what business is it of mine? And why dash one’s brains out against a wall?”
Passing before his eyes, Yourii seemed to see the early years of his political activity; the secret meetings, propaganda, risks and reverses, his own enthusiasm and the profound apathy of those whom he was so eager to save. He walked up and down the room, gesticulating.
“Then, it is not worth while doing anything,” drawled Novikoff, and, thinking of Sanine, he added,
“Egoists, that’s all you are!”