As the slow minutes dragged by, he grew to hate himself, to hate this new thing in his life which had torn down his everyday standards, which had carried him off his feet in this strange and detestable fashion.

It was a dormant sense, without a doubt, which Elizabeth had stirred into life--the sense of sex, quiescent in him so long, chiefly through his perfect physical sanity; perhaps, too, in some measure, from his half-starved imagination.

It was significant, though, that once aroused it burned with surprising and unwavering fidelity.

The whole world of women now were different creatures to him, but they left him as utterly unmoved as in his unawakened days.

It was Elizabeth only he wanted, craved for fiercely, with all this late-born passion of mingled sentiment and desire.