Even the fact that she
loved him at first did not blind him to the effect upon character that
her life must inevitably have had. She had dwelt in an atmosphere of
lies, he said, and to lie was nothing to her. Any original refinement
of feeling as regards human relations that she might have had had become
dulled, if it had not been destroyed. At first he blindly, miserably,
resigned himself to this. He said to himself, 'Fate has led me to love
this sort of woman. I must accept her as she is, with all her defects,
with her instinct for treachery, with her passion for the admiration
of the world, with her incapability for being true to an ideal, or for
isolating herself in the adoration of one man. I cannot get away from
her. She has me fast. I cannot live without her. Then I must bear the
torture that jealousy of her will certainly bring me in silence. I must
conceal it. I must try to kill it. I must make the best of whatever
she will give me, knowing that she can never, with her nature and her
training, be exclusively mine as a good woman might be.' This he said to
himself. This plan of conduct he traced for himself.
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