Blissful

           Allthistime,IhadgoneonlovingDora,harderthanever.Herideawasmyrefugeindisappointmentanddistress,andmadesomeamendstome,evenforthelossofmyfriend.ThemoreIpitiedmyself,orpitiedothers,themoreIsoughtforconsolationintheimageofDora.Thegreatertheaccumulationofdeceitandtroubleintheworld,thebrighterandthepurershonethestarofDorahighabovetheworld.Idon’tthinkIhadanydefiniteideawhereDoracamefrom,orinwhatdegreeshewasrelatedtoahigherorderofbeings;butIamquitesureIshouldhavescoutedthenotionofherbeingsimplyhuman,likeanyotheryounglady,withindignationandcontempt.

           IfImaysoexpressit,IwassteepedinDora.Iwasnotmerelyoverheadandearsinlovewithher,butIwassaturatedthroughandthrough.Enoughlovemighthavebeenwrungoutofme,metaphoricallyspeaking,todrownanybodyin;andyettherewouldhaveremainedenoughwithinme,andalloverme,topervademyentireexistence.

           ThefirstthingIdid,onmyownaccount,whenIcameback,wastotakeanight-walktoNorwood,and,likethesubjectofavenerableriddleofmychildhood,togo‘roundandroundthehouse,withoutevertouchingthehouse’,thinkingaboutDora.Ibelievethethemeofthisincomprehensibleconundrumwasthemoon.

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Roboto Lora
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