My ‘passion’ dated from that day. I felt at that time, I recollect, something like what a man must feel in entering the service:I had ceased now to be simply a young boy; I was in love. I have said that my passion dated from that day; I might have added that my sufferings too dated from the same day. Away from her I pined; nothing was to my mind; everything went wrong with me; I spent whole days thinking intensively about her... I pined when away, ...
But in her presence I was no better off. I was conscious of my insignifance; I was stupidly sulky or abject, and, all the same, an invincible force drew me to her, and I could not help a shudder of delight whenever I stepped through the doorway of her room.