I do beastly things, too....

Some men will do anything to crush out the last quiver of pride in them....

And the worst is that, mangled, torn, mine still palpitates--like one of your wretched, bloody quail gaping on its back! By God! At least, I couldn't do _that_!--_Kill_ for pleasure!--as better men than I do.

And better women, too!...

What am I talking about?
I've done worse than that on impulse--meaning well, like other fools." Malcourt's face had become drawn, sallow, almost sneering; but in the slow gaze he turned on Hamil was that blank hopelessness which no man can encounter and remember unmoved.
"Malcourt," he said, "you're morbid.