I was once worthy of
men's liking, perhaps, and I had good comrades; but that is all over. You
have not come near me lately, but it wasn't because you felt any neglect,
or wished to take back your words; but--because of something else. . . .
I understand it all. She has great power. She always had. She is very
beautiful. I remember when--but I will not call it back before you,
though, God knows, I go over it all every day and every night, until it
seems that only the memory of her is real, and that she herself is a
ghost. I ought not to have crossed her path again, even unknown to her.
But I have done it, and now I cannot go out of that path without kneeling
before her once again, as I did long ago. Having seen her, breathed the
same air, I must speak or die; perhaps it will be both. That is a power
she has: she can bend one to her will, although she often, involuntarily,
wills things that are death to others. One MUST care for her, you
understand; it is natural, even when it is torture to do so."
He put his hand on his side and moved as if in pain. I reached over and
felt his pulse, then took his hand and pressed it, saying: "I will be
your friend now, Madras, in so far as I can.
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