uch a thing was impossible; she
would prevent it, since a little motion of her hand would suffice.
Would she not always have time to stretch out her arms when he was there
before her? And yet from the recesses of her being a very clear and
frigid voice seemed to ascend, articulating brief words which rang in
her ears as if repeated by a trumpet blast. If he should die it would
be all over, the factory would never belong to him. She who had bitterly
lamented that she could devise no obstacle had merely to let this
helpful chance take its own course. And this, indeed, was what the
voice said, what it repeated with keen insistence, never adding another
syllable. After that there would be nothing. After that there would
merely remain the shattered remnants of a suppressed man, and a pit of
darkness splashed with blood, in which she discerned, foresaw nothing
more. What would happen on the morrow? She did not wish to know; indeed
there would be no morrow. It was solely the brutal immediate fact which
the imperious voice demanded. He dead, it would be all over, he would
never possess the works.

He drew nearer still. And within her now there raged a frightful battle.
How long did it last--days? years? Doubtless but a few seconds. She was
still resolved that she would stop him as he passed, certain as she felt
that she would conquer her horrible thoughts when the moment came
for the decisive gesture. And yet those thoughts invaded her, became
materialized within her, like some physical craving, thirst or hunger.
She hungered for that finish, hungered to the point of suffering, seized
by one of those sudden desperate longings which beget crime; such as
when a passer-by is despoiled and throttled at the corner of a street.
It seemed to her that if she could not satisfy her craving she herself
must lose her life. A consuming passion, a mad desire for that man's
annihilation filled her as she saw him approach. She could now see him
still more plainly and the sight of him exasperated her. His forehead,
his eyes, his lips tortured her like some hateful spectacle. Another
step, yet one more, then another, and he would be before her. Yes, yet
another step, and she was already stretching out her hand in readiness
to stop him as soon as he should brush past.

He came along. What was it that happened? O God! When he was there, so
absorbed in his thoughts that he brushed against her without feeling
her, she turned to stone. Her hand beca