I thank you for the compliment you
have paid me, and there is an end."
"Any living man," he repeated after her. "That means you love a dead
man--Seymour, he who was drowned. No wonder that I hated him when first
my eyes fell on him years ago, long before you had come into our lives.
Prescience, the sub-conscious self again. Well, what is the use of
loving the dead, those who no longer have any existence, who have
gone back into the clay out of which they were formed and are not, nor
evermore shall be? You have but one life; turn, turn to the living, and
make it happy."
"I do not agree with you, Mr. Meyer. To me the dead are still living;
one day I shall find them. Now let me go."
"I will not let you go. I will plead and wrestle with you as in the
old fable my namesake of my own race wrestled with the angel, until at
length you bless me. You despise me because I am a Jew, because I have
had many adventures and not succeeded; because you think me mad. But I
tell you that there is the seed of greatness in me. Give yourself to me
and I will make you great, for now I know that it was you whom I needed
to supply what is lacking in my nature. We will win the wealth, and
together we will rule----"
"Until a few days hence we starve or the Matabele make an end of us.
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