Explore "On the Brink of a Chasm" by L.T. Meade on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Barbara looked like a beautiful white lily. Her long neck slightly drooped as she walked down the room. Tarbot's face as he watched her became more and more ugly; the devil was fairly aroused in him.
"If I cannot have that woman for my wife I shall go under," he muttered. "But she shall be mine-I swear it. Only a rival can kill hope. If there is a rival, _if_"-he clenched his hand-"he shall rue it," he muttered; "the man, whoever he is, shall rue it-he shall rue it to his dying day."