"Do you remember the German legend of the
man that died when he met his own Double? No?
It appeared to him at night in a lonely place,
wringing its hands in despair. Well, I met mine
the last time I was in the hills; and when I cross
the frontier again I shan't come back."
Martini came up to him and put a hand on the
back of his chair.
"Listen, Rivarez; I don't understand a word
of all this metaphysical stuff, but I do understand
one thing: If you feel about it that way, you are
not in a fit state to go. The surest way to get
taken is to go with a conviction that you will be
taken. You must be ill, or out of sorts somehow,
to get maggots of that kind into your head. Suppose
I go instead of you? I can do any practical
work there is to be done, and you can send a
message to your men, explaining------"
"And let you get killed instead? That would
be very clever."
"Oh, I'm not likely to get killed! They don't
know me as they do you. And, besides, even if
I did------"
He stopped, and the Gadfly looked up with a
slow, inquiring gaze.
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