He had been for months without music of the character he loved—and he dared not play any of it! McClintock, after the music began, left the piano and sat in a corner just beyond the circle of light cast by the lamp. The lamp was not yet lit, and in the dim light he bent forward as though trying to look into her averted face. ‘Because you are a bête, and a pig, and imbecile. Do you know that he is very much in love with you?” Anna smiled. Analysis would come later, when the primitive conscience, satisfied, would cease to dominate his thought and action. "It is never too late.
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