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but what she said is yet to be recorded in the book of Fate。 For ten long years I roved about; living first in one capital; then another: sometimes in St。 Petersburg; oftener in Paris; occasionally in Rome; Naples; and Florence。 Provided with plenty of money and the passport of an old name; I could choose my own society: no circles were closed against me。 I sought my ideal of a woman amongst English ladies; French countesses; Italian signoras; and German grafinnen。 I could not find her。 Sometimes; for a fleeting moment; I thought I caught a glance; heard a tone; beheld a form; which announced the realisation of my dream: but I was presently undeserved。 You are not to suppose that I desired perfection; either of mind or person。 I longed only for what suited me—for the antipodes of the Creole: and I longed vainly。 Amongst them all I found not one whom; had I been ever so free; I—warned as I was of the risks; the horrors; the loathings of incongruous unions—would have asked to marry me。 Disappointment made me reckless。 I tried dissipation—never debauchery: that I hated; and hate。 That was my Indian Messalina’s attribute: rooted disgust at it and her restrained me much; even in pleasure。 Any enjoyment that bordered on riot seemed to approach me to her and her vices; and I eschewed it。

“Yet I could not live alone; so I tried the panionship of mistresses。 The first I chose was Céline Varens—another of those steps which make a man spurn himself when he recalls them。 You alrea

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