I took her hand, kissed it, and said
in the most cheerful voice I could assume, "You are a good and dear
girl; do not mind me,--there is nothing whatever the matter; besides,
you are our guest, and it is I who ought to see that you are
comfortable."
And I kissed again her hand, both hands in fact. All this could be
still put down to cousinly affection,--human nature is so mean that
the consciousness that there was still a door through which I could
escape lent me courage. I call this feeling mean for the very reason
that I am not responsible to anybody except to myself, and myself I
cannot deceive. Yet I feel that even to myself I shall not give a
strict account, because in so far as my relations to Aniela are
concerned I am carried away by my sensations. I still feel on my lips
the touch of her hand,--and my desires are simply without limit.
Sooner or later I shall myself close that door through which I could
still escape. But could I still escape? Yes, if some extraneous
circumstances came to my aid.
In the meanwhile she loves me, and everything draws me towards her.
To-day I asked myself, "If it is to be, why put it off?" I found
a ready answer: "Because I do not want to lose any of my present
sensations; the sudden thrills, the charm of the words unspoken, the
questioning glances, the expectations. I wish to spin out the romance
to the very end.
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