It suddenly struck him that if things were wrong it was because he,
Yourii, was not a Prometheus. Such a thought, in itself most
distressing, yet gave him another opportunity for morbid self-torture.

"What sort of a Prometheus am I? Always looking at everything from a
personal, egotistic point of view. It is I, always I; always for
myself. I am every bit as weak and insignificant as the other people
that I heartily Despise."

This comparison was so displeasing to him that his thoughts became
confused, and for a while he sat brooding over the subject,
endeavouring to find a justification of some kind.

"No, I am not like the others," he said to himself, feeling, in a
sense, relieved, "because I think about these things. Fellows like
Riasantzeff and Novikoff and Sanine would never dream of doing so. They
have not the remotest intention of criticising themselves, being
perfectly happy and self-satisfied, like Zarathustra's triumphant pigs.
The whole of life is summed up in their own infinitesimal ego; and by
their spirit of shallowness it is that I am infected. Ah, well! when
you are with wolves you've got to howl. That is only natural."

Yourii began to walk up and down the room, and, as often happens, his
change of position brought with it a change in his train of thought.

"Very well. That's so. All the same, a good many things have to be
considered. For instance, what is my position with regard to Sina
Karsavina? Whether I love her or not it doesn't much matter. The
question is, what will come of it all? Suppose I marry her, or become
closely attached to her. Will that make me happy? To betray her would
be a crime, and if I love her ... Well, then, I can ... In all
probability she would have children." He blushed at the thought.
"There's nothing wrong about that, only it would be a tie, and I should
lose my freedom. A family man! Domestic bliss! No, that's not in my
line."