In his heart he felt the bitter sense of shame of a man
who wilfully succumbs to weakness. Yet that night he made his
efforts.
For four hours he sat in his lonely rooms and worked. Then the
unequal struggle was ended. With a groan he caught up his hat
and coat and left the house. Half an hour later, he was among
the little crowd of loiterers and footmen standing outside the
doors of the Duke of York's Theatre.
It was still some time before the termination of the performance.
As the slow minutes dragged by, he grew to hate himself, to hate
this new thing in his life which had torn down his everyday
standards, which had carried him off his feet in this strange and
detestable fashion. It was a dormant sense, without a doubt,
which Elizabeth had stirred into life--the sense of sex,
quiescent in him so long, chiefly through his perfect physical
sanity; perhaps, too, in some measure, from his half-starved
imagination. It was significant, though, that once aroused it
burned with surprising and unwavering fidelity. The whole world
of women now were different creatures to him, but they left him
as utterly unmoved as in his unawakened days. It was Elizabeth
only he wanted, craved for fiercely, with all this late-born
passion of mingled sentiment and desire. He felt himself, as he
hung round there upon the pavement, rubbing shoulders with the
liveried servants, the loafers, and the passers-by, a thing to be
despised. He was like a whipped dog fawning back to his master.
Pages:
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185