"How can you doubt it?" replied Sarudine. The words sounded insincere,
almost cold.

Again he took her hand and kissed it. He was entangled in a strange
coil of sensations and of thoughts. Only two days ago on this very
pillow had lain the dark tresses of Lida's dishevelled hair as he held
her in his arms and their lips had met in a frenzy of passion
uncontrolled. In that moment of desire the whole world and all his
countless sensuous schemes of enjoyment with other women seemed
realized and attained; the desire in deliberate and brutal fashion
deeply to wrong this nature placed by passion within his power. And
now, all at once, his feeling for her was one of loathing. He would
have liked to thrust her from him; he wished never to see her or hear
her again. So overpowering was this desire, that to sit beside her
became positive torture. At the same time a vague dread of her deprived
him of will-power and forced him to remain. He was perfectly aware that
there was nothing whatever to bind him to her, and that it was with her
own consent that he had possessed her, without any promise on his part.
Each had given just as each had taken. Nevertheless he felt as if
caught in some sticky substance from which he could not free himself.
He foresaw that Lida would make some claim upon him, and that he must
either consent, or else commit a base, vile act. He appeared to be as
utterly powerless as if the bones had been removed from his legs and
arms, and as if, instead of a tongue in his mouth, there were a moist
rag. He wanted to shout at her, and let her know once for all that she
had no right to ask anything of him, but his heart was benumbed by
craven fear, and to his lips there rose a senseless phrase which he
knew to be absolutely unfitting.