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11 pages, Kindle Edition
First published September 16, 1900
It was the exact kind of abode that I had been looking after for weeks, for I was in that condition of mind when absolute renunciation of society was a necessity. I had become diffident of myself, and wearied of my kind. A strange unrest was in my blood; a barren dearth in my brains. Familiar objects and faces had grown distasteful to me. I wanted to be alone.
This is the mood which comes upon every sensitive and artistic mind when the possessor has been overworked or living too long in one groove.
...although we both acted as circumspectly as possible, I had no
doubt Mrs Brunnell could see how engrossed we were in each other. Lovers are not unlike ostriches in
their modes of concealment.