And she felt betrayed, betrayed and deserted. The iron had gone
deep into her soul. Paolo had deserted her, she had been betrayed to
other men for five years. There was something cruel and implacable in
life. She sat sullen and heavy, for all her quick activity. Her soul was
sullen and heavy.
I could never believe Felicina was Paolo's child. She was an
unprepossessing little girl, affected, cold, selfish, foolish. Maria and
Paolo, with real Italian greatness, were warm and natural towards the
child in her. But they did not love her in their very souls, she was the
fruit of ash to them. And this must have been the reason that she was so
self-conscious and foolish and affected, small child that she was.
Paolo had come back from America a year before she was born--a year
before she was born, Maria insisted. The husband and wife lived together
in a relationship of complete negation. In his soul he was sad for her,
and in her soul she felt annulled. He sat at evening in the
chimney-seat, smoking, always pleasant and cheerful, not for a moment
thinking he was unhappy. It had all taken place in his subconsciousness.
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