It was but a spectral journey he made among such delights--he had no
appetite for these exploits. He had never had much, and he had lost the
habit. He felt that he could never recover it. His hunger could only
be appeased by his wife, inexorable and frightened, behind these shut
doors. No other woman could help him.
This conviction came to him with terrible force out there in the dark.
His philosophy left him; and surly anger took its place. Her conduct
was immoral, inexcusable, worthy of any punishment within his power. He
desired no one but her, and she refused him!
She must really hate him, then! He had never believed it yet. He did not
believe it now. It seemed to him incredible. He felt as though he had
lost for ever his power of judgment. If she, so soft and yielding as
he had always judged her, could take this decided step--what could not
happen?
Then he asked himself again if she were carrying on an intrigue with
Bosinney. He did not believe that she was; he could not afford to
believe such a reason for her conduct--the thought was not to be faced.
It would be unbearable to contemplate the necessity of making his
marital relations public property. Short of the most convincing proofs
he must still refuse to believe, for he did not wish to punish himself.
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