But all the while he was gnawed by sorrow for what he was doing. Nan!
Linnet! so young, so disarming! he knew he loved them both. In his mind
they were children. Could he but struggle out of the deadly groove of
perversity that held him, could he but shake off the innumerable fetters
of his small malignities! As well hope to shake off the physical
cowardice that was his secret torment and his shame. To rise! to escape!
to leave behind all the indignity of petulance and rancour! at times he
fancied almost that he could hear the beating of great wings, and a kind
of swoon overtook him, as one who has fasted, or has remained too long
in mystic contemplation; but, emerging from it, he was instantly wrapped
up again in the cold craftiness of his schemings, that tangled
themselves round him as surely as he would tangle them round others.