I have just been working at it, and you will find my opinions in my
book." If he were asked to give his opinions now, or at least to
indicate them, he shook his head and gently said, "I am not good at
extempore speaking. My thoughts only come out clearly when I have a
pen in my hand." Not a day passed by without an allusion to "the
book," to which he devoted his nights, and of which he always spoke,
with emotion in his voice, as the work of his life.
It was impossible to get more information out of him, either about
its title, scope, or contents. It was a philosophic work, no doubt,
as he always said on speaking of such subjects, "I have mentioned
that in my book." But that was all that could be got out of him.
Schrotter and Wilhelm were too good to tease him much about it,
though the former, with a suspicion of a smile, would say that he
hoped this and that would have a place in the book, so that one
might at least know his opinion on it. Paul, who always saw him when
he came to Berlin, used to ask whether the book was not yet ready.
Dorfling gave no answer, but his pale face grew paler, and an
expression of pain came to his eyes.
Barinskoi, who now sponged on Dorfling just as he had previously
done on Wilhelm, giving them in fact turn and turn about, had the
bad taste to make jokes continually about the book, at one time
calling it the Holy Grail, another time comparing it to the diamond
country of Sindbad's tale, and in a hundred ways making vulgar and
sceptical jokes.
Pages:
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259