His pulses were quivering, the passion singing in his blood, the joy of her faint caress living proudly in his memory.

It had been the moment of his life, and yet even now he felt sick at heart with fears, with the torment of her passiveness.

She had lain there in his arms, he had felt the thrill of her body, some quaint inspiration had told him that she had sought for joy in that moment and had not wholly failed.

Yet his anxiety was tumultuous, overwhelming.

Then she spoke, and his heart leaped again.
Her voice was more natural.