The Wanderer
roused himself and saw Unorna standing before Israel Kafka's prostrate
body. As though suddenly released from a spell he sprang forward and
knelt down, trying to revive the unconscious man by rubbing his hands
and chafing his temples.
CHAPTER XVI
The Wanderer glanced at Unorna's face and saw the expression of
relentless hatred which had settled upon her features. He neither
understood it nor attempted to account for it. So far as he knew, Israel
Kafka was mad, a man to be pitied, to be cared for, to be controlled
perhaps, but assuredly not to be maltreated. Though the memories of the
last half hour were confused and distorted, the Wanderer began to be
aware that the young Hebrew had been made to suffer almost beyond the
bounds of human endurance. So far as it was possible to judge, Israel
Kafka's fault consisted in loving a woman who did not return his love,
and his worst misdeed had been his sudden intrusion upon an interview
in which the Wanderer could recall nothing which might not have been
repeated to the whole world with impunity.
During the last month he had lived a life of bodily and mental
indolence, in which all his keenest perceptions and strongest instincts
had been lulled into a semi-dormant state. Unknown to himself, the
mainspring of all thought and action had been taken out of his existence
together with the very memory of it. For years he had lived and moved
and wandered over the earth in obedience to one dominant idea.
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