"
Ideala sighed, and after a short pause she said: "I have been wondering
what makes it possible for a woman to love a man? Not the flesh that
she sees and can touch, though that may attract her as the colour of
the flower attracts. It must be the mind that is in him--the scent of
the flower, as it were. If she finds eventually that his mind is
corrupt, she must shrink from it as from any other form of corruption,
and finally abandon him on account of it, as she would abandon the
flower if she found its odour fetid--indeed, she has already abandoned
her husband when she acknowledges that he is not what she thought him."
She paused a moment, and then went on passionately: "I cannot tell you
what it was--the battling day by day with a power that was irresistible
because it had to put forth no strength to accomplish its work; it
simply was itself, and by being itself it lowered me. I cannot tell you
what it was to feel myself going down, and not to be able to help it,
try as I would; to feel the gradual change in my mind as it grew to
harbour thoughts which were reflections of his thoughts, low thoughts;
and to be filled with ideas, recollections of his conversations, which
had caused me infinite disgust at the time, but remained with me like
the taste of a nauseous drug, until I almost acquired a morbid liking
for them.
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