an odd mixture of gratitude and shyness, of admiration and fear, of affection and inward resistance.
I had the intention of seeing him again soon, and then I wanted to talk more about everything, about the Cain affair as well.
But I did not see him. Gratitude is not one of the virtues in which I believe, and to require it of a child would seem to me wrong.
So I do not wonder very much at the complete ingratitude which I evinced towards Max Demian.
To-day I believe positively that I should have been ruined for life if he had not freed me from Kromer’s clutches.
At that time also I already felt this release as the greatest event of my young life—
but I left the deliverer on one side as soon as he had accomplished the miracle.
As I have said, ingratitude seems to me nothing strange. Solely, the lack of curiosity I evinced is odd.
How was it possible that I could continue for a single day my quiet mode of life
without coming nearer to the secrets with which Demian had brought me in contact?
How could I restrain the desire to hear more about Cain, more about Kromer, more about the thought-reading?
It is scarcely comprehensible, and yet it is so. I suddenly saw myself extricated from the demoniacal toils,
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