His rival was only a boy, and Emile knew that if there came the
struggle between male and male, the odds were all in his own favour.
Arithelli had grown into the habit of obedience to him, and if he
wished it he could make it practically impossible for her to see Vardri
without his knowledge and consent. She would sorrow for her lover at
first, but he was a man, and he could make her forget.
A thousand little devils crowded close, whispering how easy it would be
to get Vardri sent out of the way. A few words to Sobrenski, and the
whole thing would be done.
His sense of justice reminded him that he least of all people had a
right to grudge her a few hours of happiness. If he obliterated
himself he was only making her a deserved reparation for some of the
things she had suffered. Through him she had joined the Anarchist
ranks, and through him she had taken vows that despoiled her of the
hopes and joys of womanhood, and transformed her into an instrument of
vengeance. She had apparently never realised that she had been in any
way injured, for she had never blamed him, and been invariably grateful
for anything he had done for her physical comfort.
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