He seemed to be devoured by an
inextinguishable fever, the heat of which made all the germs of human
lust lying dormant in the hidden depths of his being flourish and grow
big. His every thought, his every emotion showed the same stain.
And yet, it was the very deception itself that bound him so strongly to
the woman he deceived. His mind had adapted itself so thoroughly to the
monstrous comedy that he was no longer capable of conceiving any other
way of satisfying his passion. This incarnation of one woman in another
was no longer a result of exasperated desire, but a deliberate habit of
vice, and now finally an imperious necessity. From thenceforth, the
unconscious instrument of his vicious imagination had become as
necessary to him as the vice itself. By a process of sensual depravity,
he had almost come to think that the real possession of Elena would not
afford him such exquisite and violent delight as the imaginary. He was
hardly able to separate the two women in his thoughts. And just as he
felt that his pleasure would be diminished by the actual possession of
the one, so his nerves received a shock if by some lassitude of the
imagination he found himself in the presence of the other without the
interposing image of her rival.
Thus he felt crushed to the earth at the thought that Don Manuel's ruin
meant for him the loss of Maria.
Pages:
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383