He has excused himself; has assured me, even sworn that I am in error. I have refused to believe him. Women are hugely credulous, credulous in the extreme.
I have not seen him this whole week. He came here twice, but was denied entrance, as I ordered. I don't care for the forgiving system. I don't care to become like Martha. …
However, if I act thus, it is on principle only; in reality, I am tortured by his absence. My feelings incline me to believe that he says true. … Surely he cannot possibly be thus false to me.
I fear greatly lest, if he should come again …
No, no.—I am going to call on Wiazewski, who has of late been quite neglectful.
I started by complaining of things in general, and with but little of personal feeling. He has hitherto known nothing about my relations with Witold. And I am also ashamed of this love, in which I have been playing so ludicrous a part.
"...And to think of the years, the golden years of youth, gliding, gliding, gliding by,
