Her whole form quivered with
excitement, till I saw the laces of her dress tremble. On the bodice
beneath my eyes, the lace fell from the shoulders, and its folds on
each side divided slightly in the centre, leaving a depression there
in which the rose-colour glowed crimson. It riveted my eyes this
line--this channel of colour burnt fiercely beneath my lids.
I could see nothing but it; it seemed everywhere, to fill the room,
to scorch into my brain, this palpitating, throbbing, crimson line.
That terrible impulse of blind excitement was rapidly drawing me
into itself--the impulse that counts nothing, knows nothing, reckons
nothing but itself; that will buy the present hour at any sacrifice-
-that accepts everything, ignores everything but that one moment it
feels approaching. This impulse urged me, pressed me, strained
violently upon me.
It left me barely conscious of anything except the absorbing longing
to take her, draw her close, hard into my arms, and say, "Yes, let
all go; from this day henceforward you are mine." But almost
unconsciously to myself my reason rebelled against being thus thrust
down and trampled upon by this sudden, brute instinct rushing
furiously through my frame, and my reason clutched me and clung to
me and maintained its hold, and, feeling myself wrenched asunder by
these two opposite forces, I stood immovable and silent.
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