Pagina 468 de 788

So, pressing his fist against his bent brow, he ran to the

meadows, where, below, the ponds glittered, and took his stand

above the one with marshy banks; in its greenish depths he buried

his greedy gaze and drew into his breast with joy the swampy

odours, and opened his lips to them; for suicide, like all wild

passions, springs from the imagination: in the giddy whirling of

his brain he felt an unspeakable longing to drown himself in the

swamp.