She could assume
with astonishing facility a hundred different attitudes on the same
question, and acted the penitent, the indifferent, the defiant, with
such a perfection of art as really to deceive herself. And in spite of
all this, poor Storm soon found that she had wound herself so closely
about his heart, that the process of unwinding, as he expressed it,
would require greater strength and a sterner philosophy than he
believed himself to possess. He had always been shy of women, not
because he distrusted them, but because he was painfully conscious of
being, in point of physical finish, a second-rate article, a bungling
piece of work, and naturally felt his disadvantages more keenly in the
presence of those upon whom Nature had expended all her best art. He
was, according to his own assertion, an idealist by temperament, and
had kept a sacred chamber in his heart where the vestal fire burned
with a pure flame. Now the deepest strata of his being were stirred,
and he loved with an overwhelming fervor and intensity which fairly
frightened him. In a moment of abject despair he proposed to Emily,
and to his surprise was accepted. And what was more, it was no comedy
on her part; he even now believed that she really loved him.
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