Later!
And now things had come to a crisis. I felt as if I could not stand
any longer, clear-headed and hard-working as I had been, against
this repeated raising, then deferring, then breaking down of hope.
Constantly I had given rein to my thoughts and wishes; many times I
had said, "This book will certainly be accepted, and then a month or
a few weeks and she is my own."
But the book had not been taken, the weeks passed by and Lucia was
as far from me as ever. And it could not continue. The perpetual
excitation and reaction was slowly injuring and confusing the brain
like a noxious drug administered to procure lunacy. And the
temptation swept over me now to let go my hold on work, on this
bitter effort to succeed, on this vain, useless striving for
recognition, and sink into some humble position which would supply
the necessities for a quiet obscure existence--shared with this
woman. The weeks, months, years, passed now, wasted, in a dull
torture, in a low fever, filled with long, dragging hopes,
expectations, possibilities, and no realities. Better sweep all
these away and settle into a level, solid existence, contented with
the simple natural pleasures that life offers without striving for.
Contented! I laughed as the word drifted across my brain. That was
just what I felt I could not be in any life but the one I coveted--a
life of power, recognition, distinction.
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