"To explain to you what passed in me at that moment it must be assumed
that we have an internal self of which the exterior /I/ is but the
husk; that this self, as brilliant as light, is as fragile as a shade
--well, that beautiful self was in me thenceforth for ever shrouded in
crape. Yes; I felt a cold and fleshless hand cast over me the winding-
sheet of experience, dooming me to the eternal mourning into which the
first betrayal plunges the soul. As I cast my eyes down that she might
not observe my dizziness, this proud thought somewhat restored my
strength: 'If she is deceiving you, she is unworthy of you!'
"I ascribed my sudden reddening and the tears which started to my eyes
to an attack of pain, and the sweet creature insisted on driving me
home with the blinds of the cab drawn. On the way she was full of a
solicitude and tenderness that might have deceived the Moor of Venice
whom I have taken as a standard of comparison. Indeed, if that great
child were to hesitate two seconds longer, every intelligent spectator
feels that he would ask Desdemona's forgiveness. Thus, killing the
woman is the act of a boy.
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