“His veins were dark with a vivid belladonna tincture, the essence of jealousy.”
“...in my dream the shadings of your soul are the dark tincture of rain...”
“Poisonous jealousy thrummed through my veins.”
“Graveyards were the one place Belladonna never saw ghosts.”
“The attentions of Wilkie Mackenzie were a conquest, an aspiration, a dream. The fresh memory of all those women, batting their eyelashes coquettishly, it boiled in my veins. One in particular. And Wilkie looked almost amused, now that his own jealousy had eased. “Are you jealous, my love?”
“No man can ever feel his own identity aright excepr his eyes be closed; as if darkness were indeed the proper element of our essence, though light be more congenial to our clayey part.”