And indistinctly it shot through my brain: Is not he himself, this Demian, a sort of Cain?
Why did he defend him, if he did not feel like him? Why had he this force in his gaze?
Why did he speak so scornfully of the “others,” of the fearsome, who are really the pious and the well-considered of God?
This thought led me to no definite conclusion. A stone had fallen into the well, and the well was my young soul.
And this business with Cain, the murder and the sign, was for a long, a very long, time
the point from which my seekings after knowledge, my doubts and my criticisms took their departure.
I noticed that the other boys also occupied themselves a good deal with Demian.
I had not told anyone of his version of the story of Cain, but he appeared to interest the others as well.
At least, many rumors concerning the “new boy” became current.
If only I still knew all of them, each would help to throw fresh light on him, each would serve to interpret him.
I only remember the first rumor was that Demian’s mother was very rich.
It was also said that she never went to church, nor the son either.
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