They are forgetful of causes.
Does it matter?
Aminta's languor asked.

The letter had not won a reply.
Thought of the briefest of replies was a mountain of effort, and she moaned at her nervelessness in body and mind.

To reply, to reproach the man, to be flame--an image of herself under the form she desired--gave her a momentary false energy, wherein the daring of the man, whose life was at a loss for the writing of this letter, hung lighted.

She had therewith a sharp vision of his features, repellent in correctness, Greek in lines, with close eyes, hollow temples, pressed lips--a face indicating the man who can fling himself on a die.

She had heard tales of women and the man.