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started up beside her suddenly--he had been lying as still as a dead
man.
"I cannot stand it!" cried Denton. "I will not stand it!"
She saw him dimly, sitting up; saw his arm lunge as if in a furious blow
at the enshrouding night. Then for a space he was still.
"It is too much--it is more than one can bear!"
She could say nothing. To her, also, it seemed that this was as far as
one could go. She waited through a long stillness. She could see that
Denton sat with his arms about his knees, his chin almost touching them.
Then he laughed.
"No," he said at last, "I'm going to stand it. That's the peculiar
thing. There isn't a grain of suicide in us--not a grain. I suppose all
the people with a turn that way have gone. We're going through with
it--to the end."
Elizabeth thought grayly, and realised that this also was true.
"We're going through with it. To think of all who have gone through with
it: all the generations--endless--endless. Little beasts that snapped
and snarled, snapping and snarling, snapping and snarling, generation
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