The words she uttered were in a shamed,
unnatural voice.
'If you'd been at Monte Carlo, you'd have heard them say, God knows how
they knew it, that it was only through me he had his luck at the tables.
He's contented himself with filling my soul with vice. I have no purity
in me. I'm sullied through and through. He has made me into a sink of
iniquity, and I loathe myself. I cannot look at myself without a shudder
of disgust.'
A cold sweat came over Arthur, and he grew more pale than ever. He
realized now he was in the presence of a mystery that he could not
unravel. She went on feverishly.
'The other night, at supper, I told a story, and I saw you wince with
shame. It wasn't I that told it. The impulse came from him, and I knew it
was vile, and yet I told it with gusto. I enjoyed the telling of it; I
enjoyed the pain I gave you, and the dismay of those women. There seem to
be two persons in me, and my real self, the old one that you knew and
loved, is growing weaker day by day, and soon she will be dead entirely.
And there will remain only the wanton soul in the virgin body.
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