The Centaurians
"I am to teach you the lost science," I murmured, going close; "you have not forgotten?"
She glanced vaguely, then suddenly leaning toward me laughed softly, while her whisper thrilled. "Already I am learning the art of Love—it begins with attraction, sympathy; ends with ennui. Should the student survive these three emotions he has achieved the enthralling, submerging flame of desire. Each atom of humanity is a world in itself, a shell covering of volcanic emotions; passion is the eruption, fierce, unwholesome, fleeting, leaving a wide swath of cinderous reflections tossed by the violent current of zephyric reason and gradually uplifted to the celestial heights of serenity, repose. Virgillius, we shall study together, for I must know all things. Do you understand?"
"Yes, I think I do," I told her; "and you have naught to learn except experience. This I shall compel you to realize, thereby giving you a dim perception of heaven and hell."
With half closed eyes she smiled. "We have talked hours, Virgillius, and said nothing. I can tarry with you no longer; on the morrow we shall meet again."
"I have been very happy," I whispered.
"Happy!" she cried incredulously. "Since creation the Centauris have been searching for happiness and believe when all mysteries are solved the chimera is theirs."
"My happiness is with you, Centauri!" I cried passionately. "I love you! I love you!"
She shook her head as though I was a spoiled
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