For, at that time, Leonora
appeared to her as a cruel and predatory beast. Leonora, Leonora
with her hunger, with her cruelty had driven Edward to madness.
He must be sheltered by his love for her and by her love--her love
from a great distance and unspoken, enveloping him, surrounding
him, upholding him; by her voice speaking from Glasgow, saying
that she loved, that she adored, that she passed no moment
without longing, loving, quivering at the thought of him.
Leonora said loudly, insistently, with a bitterly imperative tone:
"You must stay here; you must belong to Edward. I will divorce
him."
The girl answered:
"The Church does not allow of divorce. I cannot belong to your
husband. I am going to Glasgow to rescue my mother."
The half-opened door opened noiselessly to the full. Edward was
there. His devouring, doomed eyes were fixed on the girl's face;
his shoulders slouched forward; he was undoubtedly half drunk
and he had the whisky decanter in one hand, a slanting candlestick
in the other. He said, with a heavy ferocity, to Nancy:
"I forbid you to talk about these things. You are to stay here until I
hear from your father. Then you will go to your father.
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