the last supper painting

the last supper painting
'Jane! will you hear reason?' (he stooped and approached his lips
to my ear); 'because, if you won't, I'll try violence. His voice was
hoarse; his look that of a man who is just about to burst an
insufferable bond and plunge headlong into wild license. I saw that in
another moment, and with one impetus of frenzy more, I should be
able to do nothing with him. The present- the passing second of
time- was all I had in which to control and restrain him: a movement
of repulsion, flight, fear would have sealed my doom,- and his. But
I was not afraid: not in the least. I felt an inward power; a sense of
the last supper painting
influence, which supported me. The crisis was perilous; but not
without its charm: such as the Indian, perhaps, feels when he slips
over the rapid in his canoe. I took hold of his clenched hand,
loosened the contorted fingers, and said to him, soothingly-
'Sit down; I'll talk to you as long as you like, and hear all you
have to say, whether reasonable or unreasonable.'
He sat down: but he did not get leave to speak directly. I had been
struggling with tears for some time: I had taken great pains to
repress them, because I knew he would not like to see me weep. Now,
however, I considered it well to let them flow as freely and as long
the last supper painting