Like and Unlike, by the Author of 'Lady Audley's Secret'
This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can usually download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1887 edition. Excerpt: ... you can, Madge, for I am the kind of sinner whom no one pities. I am a murderer. He clasped her hand in both his own, and drew her nearer to him, looking up at her with despairing eyes, as she stood looking down upon him, speechless with horror. I killed my wife. Oh, God I had the confession of her falsehood in my hand, her declaration that she had ceased to love me, and that she was passionately in love with another man--that she was leaving me to be his mistress. A pleasant letter for a husband to read, Madge. The ink was wet upon the paper, and she stood there looking at me--beautiful--false to the core. I struck her to the ground. It was only one blow, but it killed her. Between the reading of that letter and her death there was but an interval of half a dozen seconds. The ink was wet still, and she was lying at my feet looking up at me--dead. It was horrible, gasped Madge, an awful, irreparable calamity--but not murder. You did not mean to kill her. I will not say as much as that. I think I wanted to kill her--as I would have killed her seducer had he been there--but I was sorry the instant she was dead. The agony of remorse began before that ink was dry. You should have confessed the truth; you should have braved all consequences. I should. I was a coward and a fool; a craven, to shrink from the consequences of my wrath. I had a right to be angry. I forgot how frail a thing she was. She fell like a lily--a tall white lily snapped in a storm. One moment--my passion had vented itself--and she was dead. And then he went on to describe that ghastly burial of the dead, in the silence of the summer night. He dwelt on every detail, ...
- 189 x 246 x 3mm | 118g
- 13 Sep 2013
- United States
- black & white illustrations