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At first the very fact that he could not have her had been,

unconsciously, the secret of her attraction She was a perfect thing,

and unattainable He could sigh for her with longing and perfect safety

But as time went on, with that incapacity of any huo back, his passion took on a more

human and less poetic aspect She satisfied hi, he drea ice

burn, of turning snow to fire The old chih his own passion began to obsess hie fancies He saw her lit from within by

a fire, which was not the reflection of his, but was recklessly her own

Hoonderful she would be, he thought And at those ti aith her into so her what she had missed in life

But altho now he alanted her, he was not always thinking of

a wilderness It was in his oorld that he wanted her, to fit

beautifully into his house, to h

ball-rooms beside him He wanted her, at those times, as the most

perfect of all his treasures He was still a collector!