'I suffer--at the thought of your former life,--the past of which I know
nothing--of your memories, of all the marks left upon your soul, of that
in you which I shall never understand never possess. Oh, if I could but
wipe it all out for you! Incessantly, Andrea, I hear your first, your
very first words. I believe I shall hear them at the moment of my
death----'
She panted and trembled, shaken by the force of all-conquering passion.
'Every day I love you more, every day more!'
He intoxicated her with words of honied sweetness; he was more fervent
than herself; he told her of his visions in the night of snow and of his
despairing desire and some plausible story of the roses and a thousand
other lyric fancies. He judged her to be on the point of yielding--he
saw her eyes swim in melting languor, and on her plaintive mouth that
nameless contraction which seems like an instinctive dissimulation of
the physical desire to kiss; he looked at her hands, so delicate and yet
so strong, the hands of an archangel, and saw them trembling like the
strings of an instrument expressing all the anguish of her soul. 'If,
to-day, I could succeed in stealing even the most fleeting kiss from
her,' he thought, 'I should find myself considerably nearer the goal of
my desires.'
But, conscious of her peril, she rose hastily with an apology and,
ringing the bell, ordered tea and sent to ask Miss Dorothy to bring
Delfina to the drawing-room.
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