Genie!" with a colon
after it; on another the words, "The bridge," and on another "Roses."
There was no doubt in her mind from this preliminary survey that this
was a love note, and every nerve in her body tingled to the terrible
import of it. Could it really be true? Could Eugene have found someone
else? Was this the cause of his coolness and his hypocritical pretence
of affection? and of his not wanting her to come to him? Oh, God! Would
her sufferings never cease! She hurried into the front room, her face
white, her hand clenching the tell-tale bits, and there set to work to
complete her task. It did not take her long. In four minutes it was all
together, and then she saw it all. A love note! From some demon of a
woman. No doubt of it! Some mysterious woman in the background. "Ashes
of Roses!" Now God curse her for a siren, a love thief, a hypnotizing
snake, fascinating men with her evil eyes. And Eugene! The dog! The
scoundrel! The vile coward! The traitor! Was there no decency, no
morality, no kindness, no gratitude in his soul? After all her patience,
all her suffering, all her loneliness, her poverty. To treat her like
this! Writing that he was sick and lonely and unable to have her with
him, and at the same time running around with a strange woman. "Ashes of
Roses!" Oh, curses, curses, curses on her harlot's heart and brain!
Might God strike her dead for her cynical, brutal seizing upon that
sacred possession which belonged to another. She wrung her hands
desperately.

Angela was fairly beside herself. Through her dainty little head ran a
foaming torrent of rage, hate, envy, sorrow, self-commiseration, brutal
desire for revenge. If she could only get at this woman! If she could
only denounce Eugene now to his face! If she could only find them
together and kill them! How she would like to strike her on the mouth!
How tear her hair and her eyes out! Something of the forest cat's cruel
rage shone in her gleaming eyes as she thought of her, for if she could
have had Carlotta there alone she would have tortured her with hot
irons, torn her tongue and teeth from their roots, beaten her into
insensibility and an unrecognizable mass. She was a real tigress now,
her eyes gleaming, her red lips wet. She would kill her! kill her!! kill
her!!! As God was judge, she would kill her if she could find her, and
Eugene and herself. Yes, yes, she would. Better death than this agony of
suffering. Better a thousand times to be dead