With such desperate precision he defined in his thoughts the situation, the consciousness of which traversed like a sharp arrow the sudden silences of general conversation.

The only thought before which he quailed was the thought that this could not last; that it must come to an end.

He feared it instinctively as a sick man may fear death.

For it seemed to him that it must be the death of him followed by a lightless, bottomless pit.

But his resignation was not spared the torments of jealousy: the cruel, insensate, poignant, and imbecile jealousy, when it seems that a woman betrays us simply by this that she exists, that she breathes--and when the deep movements of her nerves or her soul become a matter of distracting suspicion, of killing doubt, of mortal anxiety.
In the peculiar condition of their sojourn Miss Moorsom went out very little.