Thinking and worrying are of no
avail. He only ought to live who finds joy in living; but for him who
suffers, death is best."
"That is what I thought, too," exclaimed Soloveitchik, and he excitedly
grasped Sanine's hand. His face looked ghastly in the gloom; his eyes
were like two black holes.
"You are a dead man," said Sanine with inward apprehension, as he rose
to go; "and for a dead man the best place is the grave. Good-bye."
Soloveitchik apparently did not hear him, but sat there motionless.
Sanine waited for a while and then slowly walked away. At the gate he
stopped to listen, but could hear nothing. Soloveitchik's figure looked
blurred and indistinct in the darkness. Sanine, as if in response to a
strange presentiment, said to himself:
"After all, it comes to the same thing whether he lives on like this or
dies. If it's not to-day, then it will be to-morrow." He turned sharply
round; the gate creaked on its hinges, and he found himself in the
street.
On reaching the boulevard he heard, at a distance, some one running
along and sobbing as if in great distress.
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