. ." And she turned her back on him.
Edward went mad; his world stood on its head; the palms in front
of the blue sea danced grotesque dances. You see, he believed in
the virtue, tenderness and moral support of women. He wanted
more than anything to argue with La Dolciquita; to retire with her
to an island and point out to her the damnation of her point of
view and how salvation can only be found in true love and the
feudal system. She had once been his mistress, he reflected, and
by all the moral laws she ought to have gone on being his mistress
or at the very least his sympathetic confidante. But her rooms
were closed to him; she did not appear in the hotel. Nothing:
blank silence. To break that down he had to have twenty thousand
pounds. You have heard what happened. He spent a week of
madness; he hungered; his eyes sank in; he shuddered at Leonora's
touch. I dare say that nine-tenths of what he took to be his passion
for La Dolciquita was really discomfort at the thought that he had
been unfaithful to Leonora. He felt uncommonly bad, that is to
say--oh, unbearably bad, and he took it all to be love. Poor devil,
he was incredibly na?ve. He drank like a fish after Leonora was in
bed and he spread himself over the tables, and this went on for
about a fortnight.
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