He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. “I trust,” he said, “that you will recognize the justice of these conditions. “I am going through the other rooms. You were content, and I came to thrive on your happiness. She looked directly at his face, his perpetually graying hair, his hawkish nose, his long cheekbones. All these things spoke of peace;—but there are seasons when the pleasantest external influences have a depressing effect on the mind, by painfully recalling past happiness. So I undertook to protect her by keeping love out of her life, by crushing it whenever it appeared, obliterating it.
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