city of Poseidon: I am waiting to welcome you. Come.'

"Who could resist it, Frank? love calling, calling with outstretched
arms; who could stay in bleak Berneval and watch the sheets of rain
falling, falling--and the grey mist shrouding the grey sea, and think of
Naples and love and sunshine; who could resist it all? I could not,
Frank, I was so lonely and I hated solitude. I resisted as long as I
could, but when chill October came and Bosie came to Rouen for me, I
gave up the struggle and yielded."

Could Oscar Wilde have won and made for himself a new and greater life?
The majority of men are content to think that such a victory was
impossible to him. Everyone knows that he lost; but I at least believe
that he might have won. His wife was on the point of yielding, I have
since been told; on the point of complete reconciliation when she heard
that he had gone to Naples and returned to his old habit of living; a
few days made all the difference.

It was at the instigation of Lord Alfred Douglas that Oscar began the
insane action against Lord Queensberry, in which he put to hazard his
success, his position, his good name and liberty, and lost them all. Two
years later at the same tempting, he committed soul-suicide.

He was not only better in health than he had ever been; but he was
talking and writing better than ever before and full of literary
projects which would certainly have given him money and position and a
measure of happiness besides increasing his reputation. From the moment
he went to Naples he was lost, and he knew it himself; he never
afterwards wrote anything: as he used to say, he could never afterwards
face his own soul.