Indeed, I could think of nothing so
much as of Bill Sykes and Nancy as I watched these two.
It was the fight of two frenzied young animals. He would approach
stealthily, seize her, and whirl her about, lifting her to his
shoulder. She was agile, docile, and fearful. He untied a scarf
and passed it about her; she leaned against it, and they whirled
giddily about. Suddenly, it seemed that he became jealous. She
would run; he follow and catch her. She would try to pacify him;
he would become more enraged. The dance became faster and more
furious. His violent efforts seemed to be to throw her to the
floor, and her streaming hair now made it seem more like a fight
than a dance. The audience hung breathless. It ended with her
dropping exhausted, a proper finale to this lowest and most brutal
dance.
Panting, flushed, with an unnatural light in their eyes, they
descended to the audience and, scorning the roar of applause to
repeat the performance, sat at a little table.
I saw a couple of girls come over toward the man.
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