He went away the same evening; so at least I was spared the night.
I have burnt his letter unread. What could it tell me that I did not
already know? Could it hold any torture which I have not already
suffered?
Do I really suffer? Have I not really become insensible to pain? Once
the cold moon was a burning sun; her own central fires consumed it. Now
she is cold and dead; her light a mere reflection and a falsehood.
* * * * *
His first glance told me all. He cast down his eyes so that he might not
hurt me again. ... And I--coward that I was--I accepted without
interrupting him the tender words he spoke, and even his caress....
But when our eyes met a second time we both knew that all was at an end
between us.
One reads of "tears of blood." During the few hours he spent in my house
I think we smiled "smiles of blood."
When we sat opposite to each other at table, we might have been sitting
each side a deathbed. We only attempted to speak when Jeanne was waiting
at table.
Pages:
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184