As she spoke, her eyes were filled with a delicious languor. Her bosom panted: she twined her arms voluptuously round him, drew him towards her, and glued her lips to his. Ambrosio again raged with desire: the die was thrown: his vows were already broken; he had already committed the crime, and why should he refrain from enjoying its reward? He clasped her to his breast with redoubled ardour. No longer repressed by the sense of shame, he gave a loose to his intemperate appetites. While the fair wanton put every invention of lust in practice, every refinement in the art of pleasure which might heighten the bliss of her possession, and render her lover’s transports still more exquisite, Ambrosio rioted in delights till then unknown to him: swift fled the night, and the morning blushed to behold him still clasped in the embraces of Matilda.