It appeared to them that their eyes
mutually penetrated their flesh, and buried clear, keen phrases in their
bodies. At moments, they fancied they heard themselves speaking aloud.
Their senses changed. Sight became a sort of strange and delicate
hearing. They so distinctly read their thoughts upon their countenances,
that these thoughts took a peculiarly piercing sound that agitated all
their organism. They could not have understood one another better, had
they shouted in a heartrending voice:
"We have killed Camille, and his corpse is there, extended between us,
making our limbs like ice."
And the terrible confidence continued, more manifest, more resounding,
in the calm moist air of the room.
Laurent and Therese had commenced the mute narration from the day of
their first interview in the shop. Then the recollections had come one
by one in order; they had related their hours of love, their moments of
hesitation and anger, the terrible incident of the murder. It was then
that they pinched their lips, ceasing to talk of one thing and another,
in fear lest they should all at once name Camille without desiring to do
so.
But their thoughts failing to cease, had then led them into great
distress, into the affrighted period of expectancy following the crime.
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