Check herself she couldn't, let her do what she
would. Her whole being seemed to go forth into that weird, wild
dance. She trembled and shook. She stood aghast at her own shame.
She had hard work to restrain herself from crying aloud in her
horror.
At last, a lull, a stillness, a recess. Her limbs seemed to yield
and give way beneath her. She half fainted with fatigue. She
staggered and fell. Too weary to undress, she flung herself upon
the bed, just as she was, clothes and all. Her overwrought nerves
lost consciousness at once. In three minutes she was asleep,
breathing fast but peacefully.
CHAPTER IX.
AND AFTER?
When Elma woke up next morning, it was broad daylight. She woke
with a start, to find herself lying upon the bed where she had flung
herself. For a minute or two she couldn't recollect or recall to
herself how it had all come about. It was too remote from anything
in her previous waking thought, too dream-like, too impossible. Then
an unspeakable horror flashed over her unawares. Her face flushed
hot. Shame and terror overcame her. She buried her head in her hands
in an agony of awe. Her own self-respect was literally outraged.
It wasn't exactly remorse; it wasn't exactly fear; it was a strange
creeping feeling of ineffable disgust and incredulous astonishment.
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