I must confess that I am disappointed with the manner of my exit. I had
imagined it quite different. I had beheld myself turning with a smile
and a jest for one last view of the faces over which I, in my eumoirous
career, had cast the largesse of happiness, and the vanishing with a
gallant carelessness through the dusky portals. Instead of that, here
am I sneaking out of life by the back door, covering my eyes for very
shame. And glad? Oh, God, how glad I am to slink out of it!
I have indeed accomplished the thing which I set out to do. I have
severed a boy from the object of his passion. What an achievement
for the crowning glory of a lifetime! And at what a cost: one
fellow-creature's life and another's reason. On me lies the
responsibility. Vauvenarde, it is true, did not adorn this grey world,
but he drew the breath of life, and, through my jesting agency, it
was cut off. Anastasius Papadopoulos, had he not come under my malign
influence would have lived out his industrious, happy and dream-filled
days.
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