She had come to see things, previously mysteries, with surprising clearness.

As, for example, that passion was part of her nature; therefore her very life, lying tranced.
She certainly could not love without passion such an abandonment was the sole justification of love in a woman standing where she stood.

And now for the first time she saw her exact position before the world; and she saw some way into her lord: saw that he nursed a wound, extracted balm from anything enabling him to show the world how he despised it, and undesigningly immolated her for the petty gratification.
It could not, in consequence, be the truth.

To bear what she had borne she must be a passionless woman; and she was glad of her present safety in thinking it.

Once it was absolutely true.