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 look at it. “We can undisturbed, eh? I’m quite calm again. You can dress. Now your uncle told me that  that I’m obliged  that it’s a question of honour for me to make it possible for you  to repair your slip and that I must  simply must  earn the right to a title  sell myself, and pay for the sacrifice which you”

She got up deathly pale and wanted to say something. “Wait,” he interrupted her. “I haven’t yet— You all thought and have your own ideas about honour. But you made a terrible mistake. I’m nota nobleman. I’m the son of a cobbler. That doesn’t matter much, but I’m a pariah, you understand? An absolutely commonplace person. I haven't any honour. You can drive me away like a thief or send me off to a fortress. I won’t give it up. I won’t give Krakatit up. You may think that I’m base. You can tell them what I think about war. I was in the war and I saw poison gases and know what people are capable of. I won’t give up Krakatit. Why should I trouble to explain it all to you? You won’t understand me; you’re simply a Tartar princess and too lofty I only want to tell you I won’t give it up and I humbly thank you for the honour—incidentally, I’m engaged already; I certainly don’t know her, but I’ve betrothed myself to her—that’s my baseness again. I’m sorry that I’m not worthy of your sacrifice.”

She stood as if petrified, digging her nails into the wall. It was painfully quiet. He got up slowly and heavily: “Have you anything to say?”