She hungered
for that finish, hungered to the point of suffering, seized by one of
those sudden desperate longings which beget crime; such as when a
passer-by is despoiled and throttled at the corner of a street. It seemed
to her that if she could not satisfy her craving she herself must lose
her life. A consuming passion, a mad desire for that man's annihilation
filled her as she saw him approach. She could now see him still more
plainly and the sight of him exasperated her. His forehead, his eyes, his
lips tortured her like some hateful spectacle. Another step, yet one
more, then another, and he would be before her. Yes, yet another step,
and she was already stretching out her hand in readiness to stop him as
soon as he should brush past.
He came along. What was it that happened? O God! When he was there, so
absorbed in his thoughts that he brushed against her without feeling her,
she turned to stone. Her hand became icy cold, she could not lift it, it
hung too heavily from her arm. And amid her scorching fever a great cold
shudder came upon her, immobilizing and stupefying her, while she was
deafened by the clamorous voice rising from the depths of her being.
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