Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. " "I thought as much," sneered Mrs. ’ Melusine edged a little away from the portrait. Those lives removed,—and Sir Rowland is completely in his power, the estates would be yours—HIS! if he were your husband.
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