want to live my woman's life … nothing more. Until, perhaps …
Oh, how hard it is for a girl to bear, upon her white and shapely shoulders, the awful burden of conscious humanity!
At times, Janusz is as gentle as a tame young wolf, and that ravenous look has faded from his eyes. Then I permit him to kiss my hands and lay them to his sunburnt cheeks. When the wild beast within him has for a while fallen asleep, he has all the kindness, all the sweetness of a child. Yet even then I feel the presence of a latent force which may break out at any time: a force which—I cannot tell why—seems to me antagonistic.
"How I wish you would allow me to call you my darling!" he said to-day, when sitting at my feet on a bank of turf, and touching the border of my skirt caressingly, like a favourite cat.
I looked from above at the long lashes of his downcast eyes, at his scarlet lips, at his beautifully chiselled nose, and said within myself: "Why don't you then? I should only just set one long loving kiss—two per-
