By all appreciable signs, they loved; they had looked love, with
eyes that conveyed the holy secret from the depths of one soul into
the depths of the other, as if it were too sacred to be whispered by
the way; they had even spoken love, in those gushes of passion when
their spirits darted forth in articulated breath, like tongues of
long-hidden flame; and yet there had been no seal of lips, no clasp of
hands, nor any slightest caress, such as love claims and hallows. He
had never touched one of the gleaming ringlets of her hair; her
garment- so marked was the physical barrier between them- had never
been waved against him by a breeze. On the few occasions when Giovanni
had seemed tempted to overstep the limit, Beatrice grew so sad, so
stern, and withal wore such a look of desolate separation,
shuddering at itself, that not a spoken word was requisite to repel
him. At such times, he was startled at the horrible suspicions that
rose, monster-like, out of the caverns of his heart, and stared him in
the face; his love grew thin and faint as the morning-mist; his doubts
alone had substance.
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