“Do you wish me to devour it?”
“Hans of Iceland,” rejoined Schumacker, “I like you because you hate mankind.”
“And for that reason I hate you.”
“Hark ye, I hate men, as you do, because they have returned me evil for good.”
“You do not hate them as I do; I hate them because they have returned me good for evil.”
Schumacker shuddered at the monster’s expression. In vain he conquered his natural disposition; he could not sympathize with this fiend.
“Yes,” he exclaimed, “I abhor men because they are false, ungrateful, cruel. I owe to them all the misery of my life.”
“So much the better! I owe them all the pleasure of mine.”
“What pleasure?”
“The pleasure of feeling their quivering flesh throb beneath my teeth, their hot blood moisten my parched throat; the rapture of crushing living beings against sharp rocks, and hearing the shriek of my victims mingle with the sound of their breaking limbs. These are the pleasures which I owe to men.”