"It's impossible! It's absurd! Silly gossip!" he said to himself,
refusing to believe that Lida, so fair, so proud, so unapproachable,
Lida whom he so deeply loved, could possibly have scandalously
compromised herself with such a creature as Sarudine whom he looked
upon as infinitely inferior and more stupid than himself. Then wild,
bestial jealousy took possession of his soul. He had moments of the
bitterest despair, and anon he was consumed by fierce hatred of Lida,
and specially of Sarudine, To his placid, indolent temperament this
feeling was so strange that it craved an outlet. All night long he had
pitied himself, even thinking of suicide, but when morning came he only
longed with a wild, inexplicable longing to set eyes upon Sarudine.
Now amid the noise and drunken laughter, he sat apart, drinking
mechanically glass after glass, while intently watching every movement
of Sarudine's, much as some wild beast in a wood watches another wild
beast, pretending to see nothing, yet ever ready to spring. Everything
about Sarudine, his smile, his white teeth, his good looks, his voice,
were for Novikoff, all so many daggers thrust into an open wound.
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