Her soul was a bottomless gulf, filled with the gales and the fires of jealousy, superhuman to destroy.
That fury consumed all her remaining strength, and from the relapse she sank to sleep.
Morning brought the inevitable reaction.

However long her other struggles, this monumental and final one would be brief.

She realized that, yet was unable to understand how it could be possible, unless shock or death or mental aberration ended the fight.

An eternity of emotion lay back between this awakening of intelligence and the hour of her fall into the clutches of primitive passion.
That morning she faced herself in the mirror and asked, "Now--what do I owe you ?" It was not her voice that answered.

It was beyond her.