Consequently there is no sense in living at all."
Never before had this conclusion seemed so absolutely convincing to
him. On his table lay a revolver, and each time he passed it, while
walking up and down, its polished steel caught his eye.
He took it up and examined it carefully. It was loaded. He placed the
barrel against his temple.
"There! Like that!" he thought. "Bang! And it's all over. Is it a wise
or a stupid thing to shoot oneself? Is suicide a cowardly act? Then I
suppose that I am a coward!"
The contact of cold steel on his heated brow was at once pleasant and
alarming.
"What about Sina?" he asked himself. "Ah! well, I shall never get her,
and so I leave to some one else this enjoyment." The thought of Sina
awoke tender memories, which he strove to repress as sentimental folly.
"Why should I not do it?" His heart seemed to stop beating. Then once
more, and deliberately this time, he put the revolver to his brow and
pulled the trigger, His blood ran cold; there was a buzzing in his ears
and the room seemed to whirl round.
The weapon did not go off; only the click of the trigger could be
heard.
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