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Maxwell, W. B., 1866-1938

"The Devil's Garden"


And together with the hatred and the fear, there was a pitiful
sneaking admiration. He looked so grand and unruffled--so old, and yet
sitting the skittish, high-mettled horse so firmly; so feeble, and yet
full of such an absolute confidence in his power to rule and
subordinate, accustomed for forty years to the unfailing subjection of
such things as servants, horses, and women. Her heart bumped against
her stays, and her face became red and then white, when she thought
that he intended to stop at the post office and ask for her. But he
rode on--gave one glance up toward the windows from which she shrank
still further, and rode by, right down the street, with the horse
swishing its long tail and seeming to dance in a light amble.
Then, as soon as he disappeared, the spell was broken.
In all that she had confessed to her husband she had been sincere; but
hers was a simple and easy going nature, and exaltation could not be
long sustained. After excitement she returned rapidly to a passive and
unimaginative level; and now, quietly brooding, she could not do
otherwise than justify herself for all that had happened.
At the end of everything she felt a deep-seated conviction that she
was in truth blameless.


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