“His face blazed, and his eyes began to glitter. “Fine!” he replied. “I despise myself, and I hate you. If you don’t kill me, I’ll cut your throat one night around some corner. There isn’t room on this earth for both of us.” I fired. When the smoke had cleared, Grushnitsky was not on the ledge. Only a light column of dust was still whirling on the edge of the precipice. Everyone shouted in unison. “Finita la comedia!”25 I told the doctor.”
