But to see my own red blood get away from me, elude me, rise above me! It stuns.

God! I have heard you read from your Browning--no, no; do not speak--and watched the play of your face, the uplift and the passion of it, and all the while the words droning in upon me, meaningless, musical, maddening.

And Mrs.Schoville sitting there, nursing an expression of idiotic ecstasy, and understanding no more than I.

I could have strangled her.
"Why, I have stolen away, at night, with your Browning, and locked myself in like a thief in fear.

The text was senseless, I have beaten my head with my fist like a wild man, to try and knock some comprehension into it.