*Ethan*
I have never been a man obsessed. I don't care about anything enough to become obsessed with it. But I am obsessed with Rosalind.
She flitters into my thoughts, my dreams, my fantasies. My mind wanders to her at the oddest moments: while I'm reading the newspaper over breakfast, sipping scotch, shaving, glancing out the window of my coach at the bustling city. I see her in red, always in red. Sometimes in satin or silk, sometimes in a gossamer veil that swirls around her and taunts me with glimpses of what might lie beneath the cloth.
I haven't called on her this afternoon. I am debating whether to go to the club this evening, because I don't want her to know she has this power over me. But sitting at the desk in my library, when I close my eyes, I can still feel her trembling i
