The door closed behind her, and he was alone, very quiet and pale, thinking of what he had done, and not rejoicing, for he knew the depth of its meaning.
He was glad it was over, for if it had been to do again, he could not have done it.

His lips were parched, his throat was dry, his hands were burning; he felt as though his head were shaking on his shoulders, palsied by a blow.

But such as the deed was, it had been well done, to the end.

The devil, if he cared for his own, would be pleased.

He had even kissed her.