[PHPMyEdit-Discuss] nts and incense, the flowers and

[Isagba <pul...@lu...>]

 no remembrance of what he had been before the moment when he kissed the
actress's hand; he seemed a stranger to himself. On his lips lingered a
taste that stirred voluptuous fancies, and grew stronger as he pressed
them one against the other. Next morning his intoxication was dissipated
and he relapsed into profound depression. He told himself that his last
chance was gone. He realized that the gate overhung with wild vine and
ivy was shut against him by that careless, capricious hand more firmly
and more inexorably than ever it could have been by the bolts and bars
of the most prudish virtue. He felt instinctively that his kiss had
stirred no promptings of desire, that he had been powerless to win any
hold on his mistress's senses. He had forgotten what he said, but he
knew that he had spoken out in all the frank sincerity of his heart. He
had exposed his ignorance of the world, his contemptible candour. The
mischief was irreparable. Could anyone be more unfortunate? He had lost
even the one advantage he possessed, of being unknown to her. Though he
entertained no very high opinion of himself, he certainly held fate
responsible for his natural deficiencies. He was poor, he reasoned, and
therefore had no right to fall in love. Ah! if