Or rather it was this body of his that seemed to live with a hideous independent life of its own.

And yet, even yet, there were moments when he caught a glimpse of his better self struggling as if under the slough of dissolution; the soul that had never seen the sun was writhing to leap into the light.

He would have given the whole world to be able to love Molly.

There was no death and no corruption like the death of love; and the spirit of his passion had been too feeble to survive its divorce from the flesh.
He could not look away.

He rose and lifted the lamp-shade, throwing the pitiless light on the thing that fascinated him.