Then she softly put out her hand and touched him, saying softly: 'Don't be angry with me.' A flame flew over him, and he was unconscious.

Yet he stammered: 'I'm not angry with you.

I'm in love with you.' His mind was gone, he grasped for sufficient mechanical control, to save himself.

She laughed a silvery little mockery, yet intolerably caressive.
'That's one way of putting it,' she said.
The terrible swooning burden on his mind, the awful swooning, the loss of all his control, was too much for him.

He grasped her arm in his one hand, as if his hand were iron.
'It's all right, then, is it ?' he said, holding her arrested.
She looked at the face with the fixed eyes, set before her, and her blood ran cold.
'Yes, it's all right,' she said softly, as if drugged, her voice crooning and witch-like.
He walked on beside her, a striding, mindless body.