It was well that my neighbor should have gone where she might distract me never so little.
For it was at the season when Nature brews the irresistible philter.
Always, I resolved to forego it like a man; always, like a man, I was overborne by the ancient longing, the formless "heimweh" that haunts the hearts of the unmated, and which in my own case made short work of stoic resolutions.

And, since the game had taught me that yielding--where opposition is fated to avail not--is graceful in proportion to its readiness, I surrendered as quietly as might be.
One woman face had been wholly mine for hidden cherishing through all the years.

A woman face, be it understood, not the face of a woman.

At first it had been that; but with the years it had lost the lines that made it but that one.

Imperceptibly, it had taken on an alien, vague softness that but increased its charm while diminishing its power to hurt.
It brought me now only a pensive pleasure and no feeling more acute.