She was more fascinating than any living woman; and her
charm, what she seemed to hint at, to promise, filled me with the need
to find it and have it for my own. That desire grew until it was
stronger than anything else, it came between everything else and me and
blinded me to all my life--to Fanny and the children and my companies.
But, before I saw Cytherea, I was ready for her:
"Because of the conventions you uphold as being necessary to--to
comfort, nothing greater. My life with Fanny had fallen into a
succession of small wearing falsehoods, pretences. I had made a mistake
in the choice of a career; and, instead of dropping that blunder, I
spent my energy and time in holding it up, supporting it, assuring
myself that it was necessary. The most I would acknowledge, even
privately, was that, like the majority of men, I hated work. Like so
many men I was certain that my home, my wife, were absorbing as
possible. Wherever I looked, other lives were built of the same labored
and flimsy materials. Mine was no worse; it was, actually, far better
than most. But only better in degree, not in kind. It occupied about a
fifth of my existence, and the rest was made up of hours, engagements,
that were a total waste.
"At one time I had enjoyed them, I couldn't have thought of more
splendid things; but the spirit of that period was not the same, and it
was the spirit which made them desirable.
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