He was disturbed, still trembling, still vibrating with the throes of the crisis, but he was the master; the animal was downed, was cowed for this time, at least.
But for all that, the brute was there.

Long dormant, it was now at last alive, awake.

From now on he would feel its presence continually; would feel it tugging at its chain, watching its opportunity.

Ah, the pity of it! Why could he not always love her purely, cleanly?
What was this perverse, vicious thing that lived within him, knitted to his flesh?
Below the fine fabric of all that was good in him ran the foul stream of hereditary evil, like a sewer.

The vices and sins of his father and of his father's father, to the third and fourth and five hundredth generation, tainted him.