Nor did he content himself with declaring his guiltlessness of the crime imputed to him, but began in his turn to menace his captor and accuser, loading the latter with the bitterest upbraidings. The love-songs of all the ages were singing in her blood, the scent of night stock from the garden filled the air, and the moths that beat upon the closed frames of the window next the lamp set her mind dreaming of kisses in the dusk. “You don’t know him, Anna,” she said with a little shudder, “or you would not talk like that. This species of madness cannot properly be attributed to his illness, though its accent might be.
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