“It is a hateful story. He forgot for the moment his own self-pity, the egotism of his own passionate love. She glanced into his face. In stature, he was short and stumpy; in person, corpulent; and in countenance, sleek, snub-nosed, and demure. The world had grown dark and wide, and she was very small. He then descended; and having induced Bess to take off some part of her clothing, he tore the gown and petticoat into shreds and twisted them into a sort of rope which he fastened to the lower bars of the window. He pointed to where the lights still burned in Anna’s windows. Life is two things, that’s how I see it; two things mixed and muddled up together. She flung aside every plan she had in life, every discretion.
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