It is an outcome of the new consciousness that I am discovering. But I haven’t worked that out fully yet. It’s only embryonic.” He paused. She started when he stopped. She had not been listening to what he had been saying. She had been arguing with herself. She had not succeeded in settling with her conscience what she had been discussing when he stopped. She bit her lip and started. She was blushing. “Tell me, Dan,” she whispered, “do you believe in anything? Do you even believe in Communism? Do you feel pity for the working class?” Gallagher uttered an exclamation of contempt and shrugged his shoulders. He panted as he spoke, such was the rapidity of his words, in an effort to keep pace with the rapidity of his tempestuous thoughts. “No,” he said, “I believe in nothing fundamentally. And I don’t feel pity. Nothing fundamental that has consciousness capable of being understood by a human being exists, so I don’t believe in anything, since an intelligent person can only believe in something that is fundamental. If I could believe in something fundamental, then the whole superstructure of life would be capable of being comprehended by me. Life would resolve itself into a period of intense contemplation. Action would be impossible. There would be no inducement for action. There would be some definite measurement for explaining everything. Men seek only that which offers no explanation of itself. But wait a minute. I haven’t worked out that fully yet. It’s only in the theoretical stage yet. I have no time. “But you spoke of pity. Pity? Pity is a ridiculous sensation for a man of my nature. We are incapable of it. A revolutionary is incapable of feeling pity. Listen. The philosophy of a revolutionary is this. Civilization is a process in the development of the human species. I am an atom of the human species, groping in advance, impelled by a force over which neither I nor the human species have any control. I am impelled by the Universal Law to thrust forward the human species from one phase of its development to another. I am at war with the remainder of the species. I am a Christ beating them with rods. I have no mercy. I have no pity. I have no beliefs. I am not master of myself. I am an automaton. I am a revolutionary. And there is no reward for me but the satisfaction of one lust, the lust for the achievement of my mission, for power maybe, but I haven’t worked out that yet. I am not certain that the lust for power is a true impulse, a true . . . but listen. That can come later. Can you give me an answer now? Will you join me?” “No . . . no, Dan. Stop. Listen.” She gasped, holding him back. “Not now. Later on I’ll tell you. On a night like this, with death in the house, how can you talk of . . . ?” “Why?” he uttered fiercely. “What night would be better suited for you to join me? Don’t you want to avenge your brother’s death? Don’t you want . . .”