When he confesses to the priest, it is with simple words, a mere declaration of fact: that he has lusted after a married woman, coveting the wife of another.

He leaves the rest unsaid: the longing that holds sway over his every unoccupied moment, the murderous rage that rises at each mention of her wretched husband’s name, at every thought of his vile hands upon her.

Jealousy is a sin, he knows; and wrath, and possessiveness besides - but beside the thought of Anne, his Anne, even eternity pales.