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. Her influence is already making itself felt in every direction.
Wanda wrinkles her brows, and displays a certain impatience with me.
Has she ceased loving me?
* * * * *