"Now you are sensible," she said. She kissed me again with her
murderous lips. I tore the ermine apart and the covering of lace and
her naked breast surged against mine.

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?

* * * * *