Marian
Truthfully, I think that I can be a natural flirt. Or at least, it was so in my younger years. I think it is clear from all I have shared here that I have lived a colourfully sinful life, and I make no secret of it. I admit to a certain feeling of self-pity, a belief that it gave me the right to seek out pleasures where I could find them. In fact, I shared such a belief with the girl I spoke of before (Jane was her name, she was Adele's governess. I am aware this sounds a little too ridiculously stereotypical to be believed, but it is the truth) and she warned me that it would taste bitter, that it would sting, that would give me... bad feelings, in short. She said as much before she knew anything of Adele's mother, or how close to the truth she came with her words of warning. But I think you will forgive a little foolishness in that regard.
Well, to the point - yes, I think that flirtation is a language that seems to come easily to me, but I have learned well enough not to speak it when I do not mean it. And you cannot for a moment think that it is because you are pretty. You are, of course, more than just 'pretty' in fact - but I had this same strange feeling with regard to you before I had any way of knowing what your face might look like. If it has grown stronger with my sights and limbs, that is only because I feel I am coming back to something closer to myself. It is not because I saw a pretty face and decided to turn up the volume. I hope you understand my meaning well enough, I fear I have taken a long, scenic route to get to a small point.
And to your reassurance, I shall also add my own. I am not flirting with anyone else.
I thought that I loved Adele's mother, I was convinced of the fact. Even after I learned the truth, I was in a sort of wild denial for a while, but eventually I had to accept the truth or drive myself completely insane over her. I was a fool, I was naive. No one in their right mind thinks Ah, but she didn't charge me, so she loves me! Which bought a certain peace of mind until I remembered that I was paying her rent. It seemed the right thing to do for the mother of my child, and it took an embarrassingly long time for me to catch on to the scheme. Anyway. I got over it, but I had already bonded with the child, and I could not say with any certainty that she was not mine. And if she were mine, then it was no fault of hers what her mother had done. I could not shun an infant for the sins of her mother, not when she knew me already and her little face lit up whenever I would return again. As she grows, she looks more and more like a miniature of her mother. I have been cold to her, impatient, a little cruel with my tone of voice, perhaps, from time to time. But then I must simply check myself, remember that she is innocent and cannot help her complexion or quirks of her features. I think... I felt that if I could raise Adele right, then it would cleanse me of all the sin. Or at least, it would be something beautiful come from something ugly. It would give it purpose.
A book? What, like the Books that are told to be opened on judgement day, or something less ominous?
Yes. You may have a point, although I have for a while feared the worst. No trace of her could be found, and where could she run to with no money or family to help her? I should not take such a grim outlook. She was resourceful. And surely some kind stranger came to her aid.