"What is the matter?" asked Wanda.
"I am suffering agonies."
"You are suffering--" she broke out into a loud amused laughter.
"You laugh!" I moaned, "have you no idea--"
She was serious all of a sudden. She raised my head in her hands,
and with a violent gesture drew me to her breast.
"Wanda," I stammered.
"Of course, you enjoy suffering," she said, and laughed again, "but
wait, I'll bring you to your senses."
"No, I will no longer ask," I exclaimed, "whether you want to belong
to me for always or for only a brief moment of intoxication. I want
to drain my happiness to the full. You are mine now, and I would
rather lose you than never to have had you."
"Now you are sensible," she said. She kissed me again with her
murderous lips. I tore the ermine apart and the covering of lace and
her naked breast surged against mine.
Then my senses left me--
The first thing I remember is the moment when I saw blood dripping
from my hand, and she asked apathetically: "Did you scratch me?"
"No, I believe, I have bitten you."
* * * * *
It is strange how every relation in life assumes a different face as
soon as a new person enters.
We spent marvellous days together; we visited the mountains and
lakes, we read together, and I completed Wanda's portrait. And how
we loved one another, how beautiful her smiling face was!
Then a friend of hers arrived, a divorced woman somewhat older, more
experienced, and less scrupulous than Wanda.
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