And instantly she perished in the keen FRISSON of anticipation, an electric vibration in her veins, intense, much more intense than that which was always humming low in the atmosphere of Beldover.
Gerald was her escape from the heavy slough of the pale, underworld, automatic colliers.

He started out of the mud.

He was master.

She saw his back, the movement of his white loins.

But not that--it was the whiteness he seemed to enclose as he bent forwards, rowing.