She gulped for air merely, for it had been difficult to breathe with his hand almost cutting off the supply to her lungs. Loving was self-forgetfulness, pure delighting in another human being. What is done cannot be undone. He dropped the key on the counterpane. She was finally dead, going to Hell. Perhaps I am still mad. But this was a vicomte’s sister. The Closing Scene 472 EPOCH THE FIRST. What is it? Good God!” An unhappy little smile parted her lips. That she possessed any sense of humour was in itself one of those human miracles which metaphysicians are always pothering over without arriving anywhere; for her previous environment had been particularly humourless.
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