Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. ” True summer descended like a sticky fever upon August’s arrival, bringing with it miasmas of humidity that seemed to hang from the trees like mucus. Paris, always beautiful even in the darkness, glittered away to the horizon. I thought one had only to take it by the throat. ’ She stopped, her lips tightening. Sometimes the music would be tender and dreamy, like a native mother's crooning to her young; sometimes it would be so gay that the flesh tingled and the feet were urged to dance; again, it would be like the storms crashing, thunderous. Only, he'll be an interesting specimen for me to observe. It was dry, as if she had powdered it.
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