But she scorched her lips, and Laurent thrust her
violently away, giving a dismal groan. It seemed to him that she was
pressing a red-hot iron to his neck. Therese, half mad, came back.
She wanted to kiss the scar again. She experienced a keenly voluptuous
sensation in placing her mouth on this piece of skin wherein Camille had
buried his teeth.
At one moment she thought of biting her husband in the same place, of
tearing away a large piece of flesh, of making a fresh and deeper wound,
that would remove the trace of the old one. And she said to herself that
she would no more turn pale when she saw the marks of her own teeth.
But Laurent shielded his neck from her kisses. The smarting pain he
experienced was too acute, and each time his wife presented her lips, he
pushed her back. They struggled in this manner with a rattling in their
throats, writhing in the horror of their caresses.
They distinctly felt that they only increased their suffering. They
might well strain one another in these terrible clasps, they cried out
with pain, they burnt and bruised each other, but were unable to calm
their frightfully excited nerves. Each strain rendered their disgust
more intense.
Pages:
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221