He started; shook another tear on his hand, and stared at it incredulously.
"This is a fraud of which I have never even dreamed," he said.

"Tears and no sorrow! Here am I crying! growing maudlin! whilst I am glad that she is gone and I free.

I have the mechanism of grief in me somewhere; it begins to turn at sight of her though I have no sorrow; just as she used to start the mechanism of passion when I had no love.

And that made no difference to her; whilst the wheels went round she was satisfied.

I hope the mechanism of grief will flag and stop in its spinning as soon as the other used to.