“‘From where?’ he exclaimed. ‘No, no, don’t say from God. If there is a God He hates me.’
“When he said that I felt as if my soul shuddered, hearing a frightful truth spoken about itself. My lips were dry. My heart seemed to shrivel up, but I made an effort and answered:
“‘God hates no being whom He has created.’
“‘How can you know? Almost every man, perhaps every living man hates someone. Why not—?’
“‘To compare God with a man is blasphemous,’ I answered.
“‘Aren’t we made in His image? Father, it’s as I said—I can’t struggle on much longer. I shall have to end it. I wish now—I often wish that I had yielded to my first impulse and killed her. What is she doing now? What is she doing now—at this moment?’
“He stood still and beat with his stick on the ground.
“‘You don’t know the infinite torture there is in knowing that, far away, she is still living that cursed life, that she is free to continue the acts of which her existence has been full. Every moment I am imagining—I am seeing—’
“He forced his stick deep into the ground.
“‘If I had killed her,’ he said in a low voice, ‘at least I should know that she was sleeping—alone—there—there—under the earth. I should know that her body was dissolved into dust, that her lips could kiss no man, that her arms could never hold another as they have held me!’