His energy began to slip away and she sank her teeth into his fat carotid artery below the piano wire, which had drawn blood from his neck. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. They then took off their boots, and crept stealthily up stairs, treading upon the point of their toes so cautiously, that not a board creaked beneath their weight. The silence of Canton at night was sinister, for none could prophesy what form of mob might suddenly boil out.
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