aloud but that her throat was so dry, her tongue so parched; but her
scornful triumph was expressed in every feature, as her fancy showed her
Marcus riding along the Canopic street with that little heathen hussy
Dada, the singing girl, while her much-hated daughter-in-law looked
after them, beating her forehead in grief and rage.

Quite beside herself with delight the old woman rocked backwards and
forwards in her chair; not for long, however, for the black birds seemed
to fill the whole room, describing swift, interminable spirals round her
head. She could not hear them, but she could see them, and the whirling
vortex fascinated her; she could not help turning her head to follow
their flight; she grew giddy and she was forced to try to recover her
balance.

The old woman sat huddled in her chair, her hands convulsively clutching
the arms, like a horseman whose steed has run away with him round and
round the arena; till at length, worn out by excitement and exhaustion,
she became unconscious, and sank in a heap on the ground, rigid and
apparently lifeless.