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the thinness of her, only that evening he had noticed how
the bones of her chest stood out in evening-dress; he went
over her features one by one; he did not like her mouth, and
the unhealthiness of her colour vaguely repelled him. She
was common. Her phrases, so bald and few, constantly re-
peated, showed the emptiness of her mind; he recalled her
vulgar little laugh at the jokes of the musical comedy; and
he remembered the little finger carefully extended when she
held her glass to her mouth; her manners like her conversa-
tion, were odiously genteel. He remembered her insolence;
sometimes he had felt inclined to box her ears; and suddenly,
he knew not why, perhaps it was the thought of hitting her
or the recollection of her tiny, beautiful ears, he was seized
by an uprush of emotion. He yearned for her. He thought of
taking her in his arms, the thin, fragile body, and kissing her
pale mouth: he wanted to pass his fingers down the slightly
greenish cheeks. He wanted her.
He had thought of love as a rapture which seized one so
that all the world seemed spring-like, he had looked forward
to an ecstatic happiness; but this was not happiness; it was
a hunger of the soul, it was a painful yearning, it was a bit-
ter anguish, he had never known before. He tried to think
when it had first come to him. He did not know. He only
remembered that each time he had gone into the shop, after
the first two or three times, it had been with a little feeling
in the heart that was pain; and he remembered that when
she spoke to him he felt curiously breathless. When she left
him it was wretchedness, and when she came to him again
it was despair.

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