Domini--"
Suddenly he got up from the divan and stood before her, looking down at
her steadily.
"Domini, I can't regret that I have seen you, that we have been
together, that we have loved each other, that we do love each other for
ever. I can't regret it; I can't even try or wish to. I can't regret
that I have learned from you the meaning of life. I know that God has
punished me for what I have done. In my love for you--till I told
you the truth, that other truth--I never had a moment of peace--of
exultation, yes, of passionate exultation; but never, never a moment of
peace. For always, even in the most beautiful moments, there has been
agony for me. For always I have known that I was sinning against God and
you, against myself, my eternal vows. And yet now I tell you, Domini,
as I have told God since I have been able to pray again, that I am glad,
thankful, that I have loved you, been loved by you. Is it wicked? I
don't know. I can scarcely even care, because it's true. And how can I
deny the truth, strive against truth? I am as I am, and I am that. God
has made me that. God will forgive me for being as I am.
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