I know
him. He is beautiful as an Antinous, but an inveterate gambler, and
somewhat of a coward. It appears I was a little out of my reckoning
when I compared Laura to the tower of Pisa.
It has happened to me literally for the first time that the memory of
a woman whom I did not love, though I made her believe I did, rouses
within me much ill-feeling. I am so ungrateful and ungenerous to her
that it makes me feel ashamed. Plainly, what reason have I for any
ill-feeling, and what has she done to me that I cannot forgive? It is
because, as I said before, from the very beginning of our relations,
though not through any fault of hers, I did many things I have
never done before in my life. I did not respect my sorrow, had
no consideration for the weakness and helplessness of Davis, got
corrupted, slothful, and finally sent off that fatal letter.
It is all my fault! But the blind man when he stumbles over a stone,
curses the stone, not the blindness that made him stumble.
17 June.
To-day I paid Lukomski, gave a power of attorney to the lawyer, had my
things packed, and am ready for the journey. Rome begins to pall upon
me.
18 June.
I have been counting that my aunt's reply ought to have reached me by
this. Putting aside all the worst suppositions, I try to guess what
she is going to tell me. I regret, for I do not know how many times,
that my letter was not more conclusive.
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