Mersault said vehemently: “I have my living to earn. My work—those eight hours a day other people can stand—my work keeps me from doing it.” He broke off and lit the cigarette he had held till now between his fingers. “And yet,” he said, the match still burning, “if I was strong enough, and patient enough …” He blew out the match and pressed the tip against the back of his left hand. “… I know what kind of life I’d have. I wouldn’t make an experiment out of my life: I would be the experiment of my life. Yes, I know what passion would fill me with all its power. Before, I was too young. I got
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