He said that his life was boring and stupid without her. “Miss Pellissier,” he said, “I came here this afternoon hoping particularly to see you for a few moments before you signed that contract. It is enough to make a man throw away canvas and brushes into the bottomless precipices, enough to make one weep with despair at his utter and absolute impotence. She could have traded it for gold nuggets and lived like a queen for a few weeks, but she did not. ‘Ah, the tragedy. On the Day he had trumpet-like outbreaks of cordiality, varied by a watchful preoccupation. Killed is too kind a word. All the king's horses and all the king's men could not undo what was done; nor kill the strange exquisite flower that had grown up in his own lonely heart.
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