He had drifted into that stagnant backwater of the soul where the scum of thought rises to the surface.

Molly was better than most women; but, poor little thing, there was nothing transcendent about her virtues.

She loved him after the manner of her kind.
No--no--no.

She loved him as no other woman had ever loved him before.
She loved him because she believed in him against the evidence of her senses.

If she only knew! A diabolical impulse seized him to awaken her then and there and force her to listen to a full confession of his iniquities, without reticence and without apology.