‘Who is that man? What has he to do with you? No, don’t tell me. At this moment, the bell began to toll in a peculiar manner, announcing the approach of the corpse. She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. She breathed deeply of the starch of his shirt.
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