Dream Story

Fridolin felt intoxicated, not only with her, her fragrant body and her red-glowing mouth—not only
with the atmosphere of this room and the voluptuous mysteries that surrounded him—he was
intoxicated, his thirst unsatisfied, with all the experiences of the night, none of which had come to a
satisfactory conclusion.

A sword between us, he thought, we are lying here like
mortal enemies.

Is one always to stake one's life just from a sense of duty or
self-sacrifice, and never because of a whim or a passion, or simply to match oneself against Fate?