"Her husband!" THAT, was her husband in there--she could yet hear his snores--for life, for life.

A great despair seized upon her.

She buried her face in the pillow and thought of her mother with an infinite longing.
Aroused at length by the chittering of the canary, McTeague had awakened slowly.

After a while he had taken down his concertina and played upon it the six very mournful airs that he knew.
Face downward upon the bed, Trina still wept.

Throughout that little suite could be heard but two sounds, the lugubrious strains of the concertina and the noise of stifled weeping.
That her husband should be ignorant of her distress seemed to Trina an additional grievance.