It increased his contempt for himself as the slave of a passion he had always derided, as the man unable to assert his will.
This will, all his sensations, his personality--all this seemed to be lost in the abominable desire, in the priceless promise of that woman.
He was not, of course, able to discern clearly the causes of his misery; but there are none so ignorant as not to know suffering, none so simple as not to feel and suffer from the shock of warring impulses.

The ignorant must feel and suffer from their complexity as well as the wisest; but to them the pain of struggle and defeat appears strange, mysterious, remediable and unjust.

He stood watching her, watching himself.

He tingled with rage from head to foot, as if he had been struck in the face.

Suddenly he laughed; but his laugh was like a distorted echo of some insincere mirth very far away.
From the other side of the fire Babalatchi spoke hurriedly-- "Here is Tuan Abdulla.".