His pulses were throbbing with double fever: that of the world and his

own hot love for her
His pulses were throbbing with double fever: that of the world and his
own hot love for her. Yes, it was love. What a fool he had been ever to
doubt it! His last thoughts at night were of her; the last word
whispered was her name; the last picture shrouded by the approaching
mists of sleep was of her face. What was morning but a sunlit moment
that meant Elise? What was the day, what were the years, what was life,
but one great moment to be lived for Elise--Elise?


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