Mercy Madras was dead.
. . . Can you not hear the curses?"
Still she was unmoved. She said with a cruel impatience in her voice:
"Yes, Mercy Madras is dead. How then can she forgive? What could her
ghost--as you call her--do, but offer the thing which her husband--when
he was living--loved so well that he sold himself into bondage, and
wrecked his world and hers for it--Money? Well, money is at his disposal,
as she said before--"
But she spoke no more. The man in him straight way shamed her into
silence with a look. She bowed her head, yet not quite in shame, for
there was that in her eyes which made her appear as if his suffering was
a gratuitous infliction. But at this moment he was stronger, and he drew
her eyes up by the sheer force of his will. "I need no money now," he
coldly declared. "I need nothing--not even you; and can you fancy that,
after waiting all these years for this hour, money would satisfy me? Do
you know," he continued slowly and musingly, "I can look upon you
now--yes, at this moment--with more indifference than you ever showed to
me? A moment ago I loved you: now I think you horrible; because you are
no woman; you have a savage heart.
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