We'll go together."
"No, no; go away from me."
He was at a loss; without another word he set off on a run toward
Madrid.
The wild flight dried his tears and rekindled his fury. He meant not
to return to Senor Custodio's even if he died of hunger.
His rage rose in waves up his throat; he felt a blind madness, hazy
notions of attacking, of destroying everything, of razing the world to
the ground and disemboweling every living creature.
Mentally he promised El Carnicerin that if ever he met him alone, he
would sink his claws into his neck and strangle him; he would split
the fellow's head in two as they do to hogs, and would hang him up
head downwards with a stick between his ribs and another in his
intestines, and moreover, he'd place a tin box at his mouth into which
his cursed pig's blood could drip.
Then he generalized his hatred and considered that society itself was
against him, intent only upon plaguing him and denying him everything.
Very well, then; he would go against society, he would join El Bizco
and assassinate right and left, and when, wearied of committing so
many crimes, he would be led to the scaffold, he would look scornfully
down from the platform upon the people below and die with a supreme
gesture of hatred and disdain.
While all these thoughts of wholesale extermination thronged in his
brain, night was falling.
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