"Nothing," continued he, "no, nothing, can approach to what I then
endured. My very heartstrings were bound up in that woman. She was like
a part of myself. In separating from her, it seemed to me that I was
tearing away a part of my own flesh. I cannot describe the furious
passions her memory stirred within me. I scorned her and longed for her
with equal vehemence. I hated her, and I loved her. And, to this day,
her detestable image has been ever present to my imagination. Nothing
can make me forget her. I have never consoled myself for her loss. And
that is not all, terrible doubts about Albert occurred to me. Was I
really his father? Can you understand what my punishment was, when I
thought to myself, 'I have perhaps sacrificed my own son to the child
of an utter stranger.' This thought made me hate the bastard who
called himself Commarin. To my great affection for him succeeded an
unconquerable aversion. How often, in those days I struggled against
an insane desire to kill him! Since then, I have learned to subdue my
aversion; but I have never completely mastered it. Albert, sir, has been
the best of sons. Nevertheless, there has always been an icy barrier
between us, which he was unable to explain.
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