But it will serve as a
pretext. For some time I have liked Laura even less than formerly. It
is for no fault of hers, as she is always the same, but as it happens,
I have transferred to her some of the dislike I have for myself. At
the time of my inward struggles I turned to her not only for peace,
but also for a kind of wilful degradation; now for that very reason I
feel displeased with her. She did not even know of the storm raging
in my breast; besides, what could it matter to her, as it was nothing
which could serve her as an ornament? She only noticed that I was
feverish and more impulsive than usual; she asked a little after
the cause, but without insisting too much. Perhaps after all the
attraction here will win and I shall not depart; in any case, I am
going to tell her that I am obliged to go. I am curious to know how
she will take it, still more curious as I can imagine it very well. I
suspect that with all her love for me, which is very like my love for
her, she does not really like me,--that is, if she ever takes the
trouble to like or to dislike anybody. Our minds have certain points
of resemblance, but thousands of contradictions.
I am terribly tired. I cannot help thinking of the sensation my letter
has made at Ploszow. I think incessantly of this even when with Laura;
I see before me continually Aniela and my aunt.
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