From Hell by Henri Barbusse
translated by Robert Baldick

She was standing now, half-undressed. She had become white. Was it she who was undressing, or he who was divesting her of her things? I could see her broad thighs, her silvery belly in the room like the moon in the night. He was holding her, clasping her as he hung on the divan. His mouth was near the mouth of her sex, and they drew together for a monstrously tender kiss. I saw the dark body kneeling before the pale body, and she was gazing fervently down at him.
     Then, in a radiant voice, she murmured: "Take me. Take me again after so many other times. My body belongs to you, and I give it to you . . . "
     He stretched her out on his knees. I had the impression that she was naked, though I couldn't make out all the shapes. Her head was thrown back from the window, and I could see her eyes shining, her mouth shining like her eyes, her face starlit with love.
     He pulled her to him, the naked man in the darkness. Even in the midst of their mutual consent there was a sort of struggle . . . Pleasure, going beyond the law, beyond even the lover's sincerity, was frantically preparing its final masterpiece. It was such a frenzied, wild, fateful movement that I realized that even God could not stop what was happening . . .
     Above the entanglement of their bodies he raised his head and threw it back. There was just enough light left for me to see his face, the mouth open in a broken, sing-song groan, waiting for the approaching pleasure . . . He was grimacing, smiling, dark with blood like a divine martyr . . . He was uttering staccato cries of surprise, as if he was dazzled by something magnificent and unexpected, as if he had not expected it to be so beautiful, as if he were astonished by the prodigies of joy which his body contained.