I tried to forget the softness of her voice, the fragrance of her hair, the sweetness of her body once held in my arms, all the vague charm of woman, the enigma, the sphinx, the mystery-magnet of the world, the charm that has no analysis, that knows no formula; but I could not forget.

A rage filled me against all the other men in the world.

I have said I would set down the truth.

The truth is that I longed to rise and roar in my throat, challenging all the other men in the world.

In truth it was my wish to stride over there, just beyond, into the darkness, to take this woman by the shoulders and tell her what was in my blood and in my heart--even though I must tell her even in bitterness and self-reproach.
It was not the girl to whom I was pledged and plighted, not she to whom I was bound in honor--that was not the one with the fragrant hair and the eyes of night, and the clear-cut face, and the graciously deep-bosomed figure--that was not the one.