It was the happiest morning of my life so far.  So different
from an ordinary seven o'clock gray London sky, even the
weather stood for a unique opportunity to leave the past
behind, to enter a newer, safer, fresher phase of joy, to
forget all about the misdemeanors and misfortunes, and to
bring forth a new chapter of the never-ending story.  I
blossomed innately and wholeheartedly to the thought of
what's to come, and the matrimonial mysteries seemed
attractive in their cordial simplicity.

Charles was sitting next to me in the cab, and I could not
restrain within me the irresistable will to share with him
the securities of my heart, to tell him about the
overwhelming oceans of excitement that grew inside me, to
come within his reach and ever so swiftly taste his most
gentle scent.  His hand was around my waist, his deep eyes
gazing outside the cab's window, his gentle fingers, as if
autonomously, caressing my back.  Minutes remained until
eight o'clock, the appointed time for the brief ceremony,
which was to be attended by only two witnesses, the two only
guests that have been invited to the altar, desolate so
early in the morning.

I galloped through the last steps, from outside the cab,
supported by Charles' strong arms, to the stairs of the
chapel entrance, and finally to the stand at which I was to
spend my last moments of solitude.  He stood beside me, full
of self-respect and emanating love, of honor, pride and
satisfaction, and of the most inherent pious joy in the
patient expectation.

The witnesses assembled duly on time, the proper questions
were asked, the proper answers given, a humble silver ring
put an end to the gaping emptiness of my overworked fingers,
and the silence in the utterly formal, apprehensive waiting
for objections was in progress.  A most extraordinary
feeling filled my entirety; it was the first and possibly
last time of my life that I could feel wholly secure,
confident of my success despite all the unwilling,
unwelcoming circumstance - -

"I object!"

She was the most wonderful being I have ever encountered, in
the sense that her actions could never be expected and left
behind the transient sensation of a miracle.  While there
was nothing but anger in my heart, my reason ordered me to
admire her continuously, no matter what she did, only for
that primal belief that there was an explanation for her
actions after all.  She was adorable, in the sense that it
was most easy to adore her; she was beautiful, in the sense
that beauty overwhelmed her and seemed to emanate from her
so frequently; she was cruel, in the sense that she never
concerned herself with the true character of her qualities,
accepting herself completely and expecting everyone else to
act accordingly.

It was, truthfully speaking, an acceptable condition.  She
was so worthy of love that it would be unreasonable not to
love her, deeply and without compromise.  Per contra, I
doubt she ever did feel love for anyone, even the slightest
affection, not to speak of the whirlpool of emotions she
always aroused.

My reasonable life had come to an end by the time she left
me; but when she left me there was nothing at all left in my
life.  This capacity of hers to contain all the sentiments
directed at her astonished me every so often; but I never
thought love could leave its subject so apathetic, while at
the very same time emptying its bearer of any remnants of
feeling at all.

I had no means of desecrating her trust but that, and it
happened to be the most violent of all.  It is said that the
punishment must fit the offense, but I felt no committment
to that principle.  I did not feel that I am supported by
vengeance, by logic or even by justice ever so simply put;
there was no emotion or knowledge left in me but the emotion
and knowledge that it must be done.  It was not my triumph
and her defeat; it was not my defeat and her triumph.  It
was the defeat of both of us, and I knew that my defeat had
to be linked to hers.

Myriads of tiny, sharpest arrows stabbed me from within
while I muttered loudly my objection.