Thrasher lifted his eyes, heavy and sad as death. "I loved you, Ellen."
"Loved me!"
The bitter scorn in her voice made him shrink like a hound when it feels the lash.
"It is the truth. God only knows how I loved you, how I do love you."
Her face fairly contracted with the loathing that had slept in her bosom so long.
"And God only knows how I hate you—how I hated you then, and shall forever and ever."
"But you married me."
"No, I married these, and these, and these!"
She dashed one hand against the jewels on her bosom, hair, and arms, then pointed to the supper room, with its flowers, and the long vista of saloons opening into each other.
Thrasher shrunk into himself, standing before her white and cold. She had no mercy on his wretchedness; no control over her own rage.