When their limbs touched, it was like falling on live coal.

They uttered a cry, pressing still closer together, so as not to leave room for the drowned man.

But they still felt the shreds of Camille, which were ignobly squeezed between them, freezing their skins in parts, whilst in others they were burning hot.
Their kisses were frightfully cruel.

Therese sought the bite that Camille had given in the stiff, swollen neck of Laurent, and passionately pressed her lips to it.

There was the raw sore; this wound once healed, and the murderers would sleep in peace.