At first when I thought of you the blood came into my cheek, but at last I thought of you constantly, and I felt for you a constant hatred.

It began when I knew that Ewin Mackinnon was dead.

I had no need of love; I had need of hate.

Day after day, my body slaving here, my mind has dogged your footsteps.

Up and down, to and fro, in business and in pleasure, in whatever place I have imagined you to be, there have I been also.