The sense of possession was raging through him, his temples throbbed, a fever stirred his blood.

Love, such as it was, he undoubtedly felt for her and even his giant project with all its monstrous ramifications was lost sight of for the moment.

She was the inspiration for it all, the goal and reward toward which he struggled.
"Betty!" the single word fell softly from his lips.

He stepped into the room, closing the door as he did so.
The girl's eyes were dilating with a mute horror, for by some swift intuitive process of the mind, which asked nothing of the logic of events, but dealt only with conclusions, Murrell stood revealed as Norton's murderer.

Perhaps he read her thoughts, but he had lived in his degenerate ambitions until the common judgments or the understanding of them no longer existed for him.