She came very near that night to resolving that she would return to her home next morning. The glance, which he threw at the door, was singularly expressive of his character: it was a mixture of alarm, effrontery, and resolution. I see that I am a beast—I beg your pardon, bête—and an imbecile, and an idiot. . Although Martha did not know it, she had her pistol and her daggers, and her knife. His invalid wife and her money had been only the thin thread that held his life together; beaded on that permanent relation had been an inter-weaving series of other feminine experiences, disturbing, absorbing, interesting, memorable affairs. She rose at once with a little exclamation, half of surprise, half of pleasure. His fellow-prisoners nicknamed him the gallows-provider, from a habit he had of picking out all those who were destined to the gibbet. She breathed deeply, and he breathed sympathetically.
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