Not that he found fault with her; the
blame was entirely his own.
He lived on the third floor of a house in Goodge Street, above a
baker's shop. The bequest of Reardon's furniture was a great
advantage to him, as he had only to pay rent for a bare room; the
books, too, came as a godsend, since the destruction of his own.
He had now only one pupil, and was not exerting himself to find
others; his old energy had forsaken him.
For the failure of his book he cared nothing. It was no more than
he anticipated. The work was done--the best he was capable of--
and this satisfied him.
It was doubtful whether he loved Amy, in the true sense of
exclusive desire. She represented for him all that is lovely in
womanhood; to his starved soul and senses she was woman, the
complement of his frustrate being. Circumstance had made her the
means of exciting in him that natural force which had hitherto
either been dormant or had yielded to the resolute will.
Companionless, inert, he suffered the tortures which are so
ludicrous and contemptible to the happily married.
Pages:
864
865
866
867
868
869
870
871
872
873
874
875
876
877
878
879
880
881
882
883
884
885
886
887
888