She felt it with the unerring intuition of a primitive woman confronted by a simple impulse.

Day after day, when they met and she stood a little way off, listening to his words, holding him with her look, the undefined terror of the new conquest became faint and blurred like the memory of a dream, and the certitude grew distinct, and convincing, and visible to the eyes like some material thing in full sunlight.

It was a deep joy, a great pride, a tangible sweetness that seemed to leave the taste of honey on her lips.

He lay stretched at her feet without moving, for he knew from experience how a slight movement of his could frighten her away in those first days of their intercourse.
He lay very quiet, with all the ardour of his desire ringing in his voice and shining in his eyes, whilst his body was still, like death itself.

And he looked at her, standing above him, her head lost in the shadow of broad and graceful leaves that touched her cheek; while the slender spikes of pale green orchids streamed down from amongst the boughs and mingled with the black hair that framed her face, as if all those plants claimed her for their own--the animated and brilliant flower of all that exuberant life which, born in gloom, struggles for ever towards the sunshine.
Every day she came a little nearer.