To him it seemed of the utmost importance that he should assure her of
his intention of never forgiving. He was convinced that his faith in her
had been the foundation of his hopes, the motive of his courage, of his
determination to live and struggle, and to be victorious for her sake.
And now his faith was gone, destroyed by her own hands; destroyed
cruelly, treacherously, in the dark; in the very moment of success. In
the utter wreck of his affections and of all his feelings, in the chaotic
disorder of his thoughts, above the confused sensation of physical pain
that wrapped him up in a sting as of a whiplash curling round him from
his shoulders down to his feet, only one idea remained clear and
definite--not to forgive her; only one vivid desire--to forget her. And
this must be made clear to her--and to himself--by frequent repetition.
That was his idea of his duty to himself--to his race--to his respectable
connections; to the whole universe unsettled and shaken by this frightful
catastrophe of his life. He saw it clearly and believed he was a strong
man. He had always prided himself upon his unflinching firmness. And
yet he was afraid. She had been all in all to him. What if he should
let the memory of his love for her weaken the sense of his dignity? She
was a remarkable woman; he could see that; all the latent greatness of
his nature--in which he honestly believed--had been transfused into that
slight, girlish figure.
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