” Anna was not late, but her heart sank within her when she entered the drawingroom. He was mad. These things did not harmonize with his conception of the forthcoming (if unavoidable) interview. He kissed her neck, moving down to her breasts, trying to consume her with passion. His throat filled; he wanted to weep. The law would accord her all her previous rights: she would return to the exact status out of which in his madness he had taken her. On the right, stood a bulky figure, with a broken rattle hanging out of his great-coat pocket, who held up a lantern to his battered countenance to prove to the spectators that both his orbs of vision were darkened: on the left, a meagre constable had divested himself of his shirt, to bind up with greater convenience a gaping cut in the arm.
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