"THAT comet is going to hit the earth!"
So said one of the two men who got into the train and settled down.
"Ah!" said the older man.
"They do say that it is made of gas, that comet. We shan't blow up, shall us? . . ."
What did it matter to me?
I was thinking of revenge--revenge against the primary conditions of my being. I was thinking of Nettie and her lover. I was firmly resolved he should not have her--though I had to kill them both to prevent it. I did not care what else might happen, if only that end was insured. All my thwarted passions had turned to rage. I would have accepted eternal torment that night without a seconde thought, to be certain of revenge. A hundred possibilities of action, a hundred story situations, a whirl of violent schemes, chased one
