I managed to
draw it away, but I saw his lips tremble; I caught, as it were, the
reflection of the kiss that never left his lips, and the image of that
kiss haunts me now--it haunts me--haunts me----
'_October 6th._--On the 25th of September, on the marble seat in the
arbutus wood, he said to me--"I know you do not love me and that you
never will love me!" And on the 3rd of October--"You love me--you love
me--you cannot help but love me----"
'In Francesca's presence, he asked if I would allow him to make a study
of my hands, and I consented. He will begin to-day.
'I am nervous and frightened, as if I were going to expose my hands to
some nameless ordeal.
'Night. It has begun, the slow, sweet, unspeakable torture.
'He drew with red and black chalk. My right hand lay on a piece of
velvet; near me on the table stood a Corean vase, yellow and spotted
like the skin of a python, and in the vase was a group of orchids,
those grotesque flowers for which Francesca has so curious a
predilection.
'When I felt that I could no longer bear the ordeal, I looked at the
flowers to distract my thoughts, and their strange, distorted shapes
carried me to the distant countries of their birth, giving me a moment's
respite from my haunting grief. He went on drawing in silence; his eyes
passing continually from the paper to my hand.
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