He stepped forward and took her in his arms. Dorothea struggled, and he thought little of it; but she got her arm free, doubled her fist, and hit out with such fury that he let her go, and fell back, his illusions tumbling about his ears. What a face she turned on him—all coarsened and distorted with passion!
"I hate you," she said.
"You loved me just now!"
"Never, never. I never did. I wish you were in hell. Oh! shall I ever feel clean again?" She was scrubbing away at her face as if she would have scraped off the skin. Gardiner stared, stupefied. Suddenly he gripped her arm.
"Who are you?"
Dorothea shook him off frantically; all her plans went overboard in one surge of fury.
"The wife of the man you murdered!"