. . . But actually, before
I could even meditate this simple villainy, I had fallen in love with
her because I couldn't help it.
"Now I had never been in love before, and I took the disease pretty
severely. And I should say that I took it rather curiously: but you
shall judge, for I'll set out the credit side of the account just as
plainly as the other.
"I hated the man, as you know: I loved the woman, as I've told you.
But--here's the puzzle--strange to say, at that time, and for a long
while, these two passions did not conflict or even contend at all, as
neither did they help. I couldn't hate Farrell any worse than I did
already. If I'd hated him just a little less, I might have killed
him, to get him out of the way. But I give you my word, I never
thought of shortening the chase in that way. Farrell, you may say,
had become necessary to me: by this time I couldn't think of living
without him. . . . Now I know what's crossing your mind. I might
have piled up the torture on Farrell, and at the same time have
played on that other passion, by setting myself to debauch Santa.
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