Then had come the woman into his life and the lighting of those natural
fires which belong to all human life. He yielded to them, and the
suddenness of it all seemed to sweep away every cooler method which had
always governed him. There had been no thought, no calculation in his
yielding, such as might have been expected. He was the victim of his
own temperament. His powerful restraint had been suddenly relaxed.
And, for the time, he had been completely overwhelmed by the intensity
of his passion.
But this passion for the woman who had so suddenly entered his life was
merely the opening of vials of emotion hitherto held sealed. It was no
radical transformation. All that had been his before still remained,
buried perhaps for the moment under the avalanche of feeling, but
nevertheless still occupying its place. These things could not be
swept away. They could not be destroyed. They would remain when the
passionate fires had completely burned themselves out.
But the unlooked-for had happened. These fires had not been permitted
to burn themselves out.
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