Had I not, in the saddest way, ruled out of my life everything that
might interfere with my ambitious projects, I could have returned his
passion. But he was poor; and about the same time I met Richard. I
cheated myself, and betrayed my first love, which might have saved me,
and changed me from an automaton into a living being.
Under the eyes of the man who had stirred my first real emotions, I
proceeded to draw Richard on. My first misfortune taught me wisdom. This
time I had no intention of letting all my plans be shattered.
When I look back on that time, I see that my worst sin was not so much
my resolve to sell myself for money, as my aptitude for playing the
contemptible comedy of pretended love for days and months and years. I,
who only felt a kind of indifference for Richard, which sometimes
deepened into disgust, pretended to be moved by genuine passion. Yes, I
have paid dearly, very dearly, for my golden cage in the Old Market.
Richard is not to blame. He could not have suspected the truth.
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