my own forehead and eyebrows. Then I, the real I, suddenly saw in the mirror a broken, quivering line of brow; I, the real I, heard suddenly a wild disgusting cry: “What? What does that ‘also’ mean? What does that ‘also’ mean? I demand. …”
Widely parted negro lips. … Eyes bulging. I (the real I) grasped my other wild, hairy, heavily breathing self forcibly. I (the real I) said to him, to R- , “In the name of the Well-Doer, please forgive me. I am very sick; I don’t sleep; I do not know what is the matter with me.”
A swiftly passing smile appeared on the thick lips.
“Yes, yes, I understand, I understand. I am familiar with all this, theoretically, of course. Goodbye.”
At the door he turned around like a little black ball, came back to the table and put a book upon it. “This is my latest book. I came to bring it to you. Almost forgot. Goodbye.” ( b like a splash.) The little ball rolled out.
I am alone. Or, to be more exact, I am tête-à-tête with that other self. I sit in the armchair and having crossed my legs, I watch curiously from some indefinite “there,” how I (myself) am shrivelling in my bed!
Why, oh, why is it, that for three years R- , O- , and I were so friendly together and now suddenly—one word only about that other female, about I-330 , and. … Is it possible that that insanity called love and jealousy does exist not only in the idiotic books of the ancients? What seems most strange is that I, I! … Equations, formulae, figures, and suddenly this! I can’t understand it, I can’t! Tomorrow I shall go to R- and tell him. … No, it isn’t true; I shall not go; neither tomorrow nor day after tomorrow, nor ever. … I can’t, I do not want to see him. This is the end. Our triangle is broken up.