When his torture was abated--for the time--leaving him exhausted and trembling with weakness, she said coldly, "Well, what do you want?
What are you doing here ?" The man lifted his pallid, haggard face and, with a yellow, claw-like hand wiped the beads of clammy sweat from his forehead; while his deep-sunken eyes leered at her with an insane light.
The woman was at no pains to conceal her disgust.

In her voice there was no hint of pity.

"Didn't Marie tell you that I wished to be alone ?" "Of course," he jeered in his rasping whisper, "that's why I came." He gave a hideous resemblance to a laugh, which ended in a cough--and, again, he drew his skinny, shaking hand across his damp forehead "That's the time that a man should visit his wife, isn't it?
When she is alone.

Or"-- he grinned mockingly--"when she wishes to be ?" She regarded him with open scorn and loathing.

"You unclean beast! Will you take yourself out of my room ?" He gazed at her, as a malevolent devil might gloat over a soul delivered up for torture.