The horizon that surrounded the poor human creatures
in their burrow had never seemed so dark and pitiless.
Clerambault asked himself if the law of love that he felt within
himself had not been designed for other worlds, and different
humanities. The mail had brought him letters full of fresh threats;
and knowing that, in the tragic absurdity of the time, his life was
at the mercy of the first madman who happened to turn up, he hoped
secretly that he might not have long to wait. But being of good
stock, he kept on his way, his head up as usual, working steadily and
methodically at his daily task so as to gain the end, no matter what
that might be, of the path whereon he had set his feet.
He remembered that on this day he had promised to go and see his niece
Aline, who had just been confined. She was the daughter of a sister
who had died, and who had been very dear to him. A little older than
Maxime, she had been brought up with him. As she grew into girlhood
she developed a complicated character. Restless and discontented,
always thinking of herself, she wanted to be loved and to tyrannise.
She had also too much curiosity; dangerous experiences were an
attraction to her, and with all this she was rather dry, but
emotional, vindictive and high-tempered.
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