There were times when she felt impelled to throw her arms around him in a
very abandonment of love, but always some sanctity restrained her. At
such moments she was distinctly and unpleasantly aware of some unguessed
sin that lurked within her. It was wrong, undoubtedly wrong, that she
should wish to caress her lover in so unbecoming a fashion. No
self-respecting girl could dream of doing such a thing. It was
unwomanly. Besides, if she had done it, what would he have thought of
it? And while she contemplated so horrible a catastrophe, she seemed to
shrivel and wilt in a furnace of secret shame.

Nor did Joe escape the prick of curious desires, chiefest among which,
perhaps, was the desire to hurt Genevieve. When, after long and tortuous
degrees, he had achieved the bliss of putting his arm round her waist, he
felt spasmodic impulses to make the embrace crushing, till she should cry
out with the hurt. It was not his nature to wish to hurt any living
thing. Even in the ring, to hurt was never the intention of any blow he
struck. In such case he played the Game, and the goal of the Game was to
down an antagonist and keep that antagonist down for a space of ten
seconds. So he never struck merely to hurt; the hurt was incidental to
the end, and the end was quite another matter. And yet here, with this
girl he loved, came the desire to hurt. Why, when with thumb and
forefinger he had ringed her wrist, he should desire to contract that
ring till it crushed, was beyond him. He could not understand, and felt
that he was discovering depths of brutality in his nature of which he had
never dreamed.

Once, on parting, he threw his arms around her and swiftly drew her
against him. Her gasping cry of surprise and pain brought him to his
senses and left him there very much embarrassed and still trembling with
a vague and nameless delight. And she, too, was trembling. In the hurt