Explore "The Dream Woman" by Wilkie Collins on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Respected Sir,--On the twenty-seventh of February I was sent, on business connected with the stables at Maison Rouge, to the city of Metz. On the public promenade I met a magnificent woman. Complexion, blond. Nationality, English. We mutually admired each other; we fell into conversation. (She spoke French perfectly--with the English accent.) I offered refreshment; my proposal was accepted. We had a long and interesting interview--we discovered that we were made for each other. So far, Who is to blame?
Is it my fault that I am a handsome man--universally agreeable as such to the fair sex? Is it a criminal offense to be accessible to the amiable weakness of love? I ask again, Who is to blame? Clearly, nature. Not the beautiful lady--not my humble self.