Hers was beauty on a large scale no doubt; but it was beauty, nevertheless: and the carpenter thought her eyes as bright, her complexion as blooming, and her figure (if a little more buxom) quite as captivating as when he led her to the altar some twenty years ago. But they were too late. Her knees almost sank beneath her as she raised the latch of the front door and looked out. Then, as she was in the act of turning reluctantly away, she noticed a thin crack between the door and the frame. She knew very well that a new thing was stirring in her. The honey on his tongue turned to ashes. He was the Napoleon of knavery, and established an uncontrolled empire over all the practitioners of crime. All that he had sown that afternoon with such infinite care was as nothing compared to this seed, cast without forethought. The law would accord her all her previous rights: she would return to the exact status out of which in his madness he had taken her.
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