For two months, Therese and Laurent had been struggling in the anguish of their union.

One suffered through the other.

Then hatred slowly gained them, and they ended by casting angry glances at one another, full of secret menace.
Hatred was forced to come.

They had loved like brutes, with hot passion, entirely sanguineous.

Then, amidst the enervation of their crime, their love had turned to fright, and their kisses had produced a sort of physical terror.