Childish ideas would occur to him; he imagined that she would never have betrayed him if he had really loved her, and he blamed himself for this.

His anguish was becoming unbearable; he was really very wretched.

His was the pain of an old wound rather than the blind, present desire which puts up with everything for the sake of immediate possession.

He felt a jealous passion for the woman and was haunted by longings for her and her alone, her hair, her mouth, her body.

When he remembered the sound of her voice a shiver ran through him; he longed for her as a miser might have done, with refinements of desire beggaring description.