Explore "The Extraordinary Confessions of Diana Please" by Bernard Capes on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
To you, my dear Alcide, conscience is, I know, a disease, and virtue its relapse. I do not, then, ask your sympathy, but only your commiseration in that long struggle with my better self in which I was now to engage -- a struggle which found me child, and left me woman -- a struggle through whose intermittent deliriums moved ever the sorrowful figure of my poor lost Gogo.
Yet I must own that the oasis in which this destiny was to be fulfilled figured for a period the greenest in all my desert career. It was a dear time, in truth; a dear, abandoned, wonderful time, until the inevitable disenchantment came. Alas! to take profit of your own unselfishnesses is, with a stern Providence, to convert them into the plainest of worldly transactions!