“I do like that!” he exclaimed, standing before me, and flinging wide his arms. “Did you hear? She wants to drive me to refusing at last. Why, I may lose patience, too, and⁠ ⁠… refuse! ‘Sit still, there’s no need for you to go to her.’ But after all, why should I be married? Simply because she’s taken an absurd fancy into her heart. But I’m a serious man, and I can refuse to submit to the idle whims of a giddy-woman! I have duties to my son and⁠ ⁠… and to myself! I’m making a sacrifice. Does she realise that? I have agreed, perhaps, because I am weary of life and nothing matters to me. But she may exasperate me, and then it will matter. I shall resent it and refuse. Et enfin, le ridicule ⁠ ⁠… what will they say at the club? What will⁠ ⁠… what will⁠ ⁠… Laputin say? ‘Perhaps nothing will come of it’⁠—what a thing to say! That beats everything. That’s really⁠ ⁠… what is one to say to that?⁠ ⁠… Je suis un forçat, un Badinguet, un man pushed to the wall.⁠ ⁠…”