You have spoken her name, I think, Marthe. Sir John followed me to London and married me. It is enough to make a man throw away canvas and brushes into the bottomless precipices, enough to make one weep with despair at his utter and absolute impotence. There one is! The same stuff still! One has a craving in one’s blood, a craving roused, cut off from its redeeming and guiding emotional side. The cause of this uproar was soon manifest.
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