And the harmony of faint and mingled perfumes seemed like the soul of
the declining day.
'Oh sweet and tranquil death of September!
'Another month ended, lost, dropped away into the abyss of
Time--Farewell!
'I have lived more in this last fortnight than in fourteen years; and
not one of my long weeks of unhappiness has ever equalled in sharpness
of torture this one short week of passion. My heart aches, my head
swims; in the depths of my being, I feel a something obscure and
burning--a something that has suddenly awakened in me like a latent
disease, and now begins to creep through my blood and into my soul in
spite of myself, baffling every remedy--desire.
'It fills me with shame and horror as at some dishonour, some sacrilege
or outrage; it fills me with wild and desperate terror as at some
treacherous enemy who will make use of secret paths to enter the citadel
which are unknown to myself.
'And here I sit in the night watches, and while I write these pages,
with all the feverish ardour that lovers put into their love-letters, I
cease to listen to the gentle breathing of my child. She sleeps in
peace; she little knows how far away from her her mother's spirit is!
'_October 1st._--I see much in him that I did not observe before. When
he speaks, I cannot take my eyes off his mouth--the play of his lips and
their colouring occupies my attention more than the sound or the sense
of his words.
Pages:
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217