But instantly she had lain down
again, and, with an instinct like that of the timorous animals whose
nature it is to feign death when they cannot flee, had composed herself
into the appearance of slumber.
Herman paused a moment, just inside the chamber door, and looked at his
wife. Something in her pose suggested to him so vividly the _Fatima_
that, despite his self-conquest on the bridge, a flood of anger swelled
within him. The masculine instinct, nourished through a thousand
generations, that no palliation gives the wife a right to claim
forgiveness from her husband for the shame she has put upon him by a
violation of modesty, surged up within him. He drew in a deep
inspiration and started forward with an inarticulate sound as if he
could throw himself upon this woman and tighten his fingers on her
throat.
Ninitta raised herself in bed with an exclamation of fear. Her black
hair streamed loose, and her dark eyes shone. Her swarthy passionate
face was an image of terror. She was not far enough away from her
peasant ancestors not to be moved by the size and strength of her
husband's large and vigorous frame. Many generations and much subtlety
of refinement must lie between herself and savagery before a woman can
learn instinctively to fear the soul of a man rather than his muscles
in a crisis like this. Husband and wife confronted each other as he
walked quickly across the chamber.
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