[...] He thought of her continually as an old man thinks of his youth. How young he had been that night when he wanted to kill her in order to calm himself! If he had written then instead of pacing about the streets like an angry lion, and afterwards tossing wearily in his bed. he would surely have discovered a new artistic road which later he had sought in vain. But it was all over for ever. Angiolina still lived, but she could never give him back his youth.