The Almighty would not permit Laurent to press her to his bosom; she fully anticipated he would be struck down if he displayed such monstrous impudence.

But no spring came into action, and heaven reserved its lightning.

Madame Raquin remained huddled up and passive like a bundle of linen.

She was grasped, raised and carried along by the assassin; she experienced the anguish of feeling herself feeble and abandoned in the arms of the murderer of Camille.

Her head rolled on to the shoulder of Laurent, whom she observed with eyes increased in volume by horror.
"You may look at me," he murmured.