I don't want her to talk to or anything of that
sort. . . . I have been studying that book, yes, that large,
vulgar, red book, all the morning, instead of doing any work.
Would you like to see it? . . . NO! . . .
"This spring, Benham, I tell you, is driving me mad. It is a
peculiarly erotic spring. I cannot sleep, I cannot fix my mind, I
cannot attend to ordinary conversation. These feelings, I
understand, are by no means peculiar to myself. . . . No, don't
interrupt me, Benham; let me talk now that the spirit of speech is
upon me. When you came in you said, 'How are you?' I am telling
you how I am. You brought it on yourself. Well--I am--inflamed. I
have no strong moral or religious convictions to assist me either to
endure or deny this--this urgency. And so why should I deny it?
It's one of our chief problems here. The majority of my fellow dons
who look at me with secretive faces in hall and court and
combination-room are in just the same case as myself. The fever in
oneself detects the fever in others. I know their hidden thoughts.
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