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THE CONFESSION OF A FOOL 125
••
And you don’t feel .sorry?
"
’’
Oh yes !
"
"You are not moved, you have no look of sympathy,
no look of commiseration."
*’
You have your husband !"
"Hasn’t he himself brought us together?
"
" What are you suffering from? "
’•
I’m very ill. I shall have to consult a specialist."
"Oh! "
" I’m afraid ! It’s terrible ! If you knew how I have
suffered ! . . . Put your hand on my head ... it does
me good. . . . Now smile at me . . . your smile fills me
with new life ! . .
."
"The Baron "
"You are going? You are leaving me? "
"What can I do for you? "
She began to cry.
" You surely can’t want me to play the lover here, close
to your child, your husband? "
" You are a monster ! A man without a heart ! A "
"Good-bye, Baroness!
"
I went. The Baron accompanied me through the draw-
ing-room, but, quick though he was, he could not prevent
me from catching sight of a woman’s skirt disappearing
through one of the other doors.
This awakened the suspicion in me that the whole had
been a farce.
The Baron closed the door behind me with a bang which
echoed through the staircase, and gave me the impression
that I had been kicked out.
I felt sure that I had not been mistaken. I had assisted
at the dénoùment of a sentimental play with a double
plot.
This mysterious illness, what was it? Hysteria? No.
Science has given it the name of " nymphomania " ; freely
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