illusory； conceited fulfilment which she had imagined she could
not have with Skrebensky。 Who was she to be wanting some
fantastic fulfilment in her life？ Was it not enough that she had
her man； her children； her place of shelter under the sun？ Was
it not enough for her； as it had been enough for her mother？ She
would marry and love her husband and fill her place simply。 That
was the ideal。
Suddenly she saw her mother in a just and true light。 Her
mother was simple and radically true。 She had taken the life
that was given。 She had not； in her arrogant conceit； insisted
on creating life to fit herself。 Her mother was right；
profoundly right； and she herself had been false； trashy；
conceited。
A great mood of humility came over her； and in this humility
a bondaged sort of peace。 She gave her limbs to the bondage； she
loved the bondage； she called it peace。 In this state she sat
down to write to Skrebensky。
Since you left me I have suffered a great deal； and so have
e to myself。 I cannot tell you the remorse I feel for my
wicked； perverse behaviour。 It was given to me to love you； and
to know your love for me。 But instead of thankfully； on my
knees； taking what God had given me； I must have the moon in my
keeping； I must insist on having the moon for my own。 Because I
could not have it； everything else must go。
I do not know if you can ever forgive me。 I could die with
shame to think of my behaviour with you during our last times；
and I don't know if I could ever bear to look you in the face
again。 Truly the best thing would be for me to die； and cover my
fantasies for ever。 Bu