Not once did they suggest a meeting, nor did they ever furtively exchange a kiss.

The murder seemed to have momentarily appeased their warmth.

In killing Camille, they had succeeded in satisfying their passion.

Their crime appeared to have given them a keen pleasure that sickened and disgusted them of their embraces.
They had a thousand facilities for enjoying the freedom that had been their dream, and the attainment of which had urged them on to murder.
Madame Raquin, impotent and childish, ceased to be an obstacle.

The house belonged to them.