" And then you told
me about your marriage; how, in order to be free from her, you took
the husband, rich and infamous, into whose arms she threw you in
your innocence; how, at the end of a few months, you returned home
doubly a slave, to be crushed, year in, year out, by love that
showed itself almost as hate; bound now in such a way that if any
other love were offered you, you could not take it.
And how old are you now? Twenty-four. Still her puppet, her doll,
for that is what you are; she dresses and undresses you from morning
till night, then struts up and down the streets of Europe, showing
her pretty plaything. You say she has no thought but you, loves you
so much that it would break her heart if you left her. Look here,
Constance: you knew my mother; you know then what it means to live
nobly and truly in the light of a greater goodness than the world
yet understands. God, or whoever made you, made your soul very
white; how dare you let the smuts fall upon it? How dare you tread
among falsehoods, you that have heard of Truth?
Try, my dearest, try to be brave; surely it is the duty of each one
of us to live the noblest life he can.
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