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Out of the primitive and holy horror which adultery caused him and the investigation which he had thoughtlessly made, there was born one morning a trifling thought in which his ideas were formulated. This thought was really a satire upon marriage. It was as follows: A husband and wife found themselves in love with each other for the first time after twenty-seven years of marriage.
To put an end to these doubts, and to save the country from the horror of a disputed succession, the Pope had appointed a commission to examine the validity of the marriage; and to the judgment of that commission whatever it might be he was prepared to yield a ready submission.
"When I went out for this candle I ..." Sir Charles broke in upon him in a whirl of horror. "No. Don't say it! You did not!" "I did," replied Mr. Mardale. "The poison is a kindly one. I shall be dead before morning. I shall sleep my way to death. I do not mind, for I fear that, after all, my inventions are of little worth. I have left a confession on my writing-desk.
My eyes, starting with horror, opened to waking; the electric light was shining in the cabin; and there stood David Wilson looking at me. Wilson was a big man, with a massively-built, long face, made longer by a beard, and he had little nervous contractions of the flesh at the cheek-bones, and plenty of big freckles.
White marble was certainly not the comparison for Marian's cheeks at that moment; it was pain and horror to her even to hear that she had been spoken of between Elliot and Mr. Faulkner, and to be told it in this manner, in public, was perfectly dreadful.
Fladgate, who, though he certainly was anxious to secure the book if he could, by any legitimate means, was anything but a publishing Mephistopheles. He had an object, however, in making this last appeal for confidence, as will appear immediately; but, innocent as it was, Mark's imagination conjured up a bland demon tempting him to some act of unspeakable perfidy; he trembled but not with horror.
Here is what Voltaire and d'Alembert thought of the curate Meslier and of his work. Their letters are presented here in order to excite curiosity and convince the judgment: VOLTAIRE TO D'ALEMBERT. FERNEY, February, 1762. They have printed in Holland the Testament of Jean Meslier. I trembled with horror in reading it.
His message struck a horror, checked by love, through all the faculties of Calypso. She replied to it incensed: "You gods are insatiate past all that live, in all things which you affect; which makes you so envious and grudging. It afflicts you to the heart, when any goddess seeks the love of a mortal man in marriage, though you yourselves without scruple link yourselves to women of the earth.
MRS. WILTON. "That is done, no doubt, from policy, to inure his courtiers to scenes of horror, in hopes of rendering them callous to human suffering and courageous in the field of battle. Ah, well! we have heard enough of them: let us now visit some other country."
Then reeling, she threw up her arms and fell, face forwards on the floor, insensible. He stood above her, dagger in hand, and studied the weapon with strange curiosity. It was crimson and wet with blood. Then he stared at the picture. A faint horror began to creep over him. The great Christ in the centre of the painting seemed to live and move, and float towards him on clouds of blinding glory.
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