John Boyle O'Reilly

“ In that half minute, the white heat of Harriet's love became red. Hitherto, she had hated the one for whom Draper had deserted her, and had hated herself. Now, for the first time, she hated him.
"Villain! monster!" she cried, throwing the coverlet from her with fierce revulsion; "you speak of murder to the murderess you made? Oh, God, God! is there no lightning to strike this man dead! Murder I have done in madness"—she paused with upraised hands, as if she saw a vision—"Oh, merciful God! ”

“ Through all phases but one had passed the love of Harriet Draper. She knew that her husband was a villain, that her hideous degradation had come from his hand; that he hated her now and would be rid of her; and the knowledge had only changed her love to a torture without killing it.
But the change from white heat to fierce red is not infinite. It is a transition rapidly made. At the white heat, the woman's love burns herself; at the red, it burns the man she loves. A woman's hatred is only her love on fire. ”

“ Poor Harriet sank down slowly, the slow shudder creeping over her once more. Her blood had ceased to course in her veins at the cruel reception. She had no thoughts: she only felt there was no hope for her.
The first love of some women is mysteriously tenacious. It ceases to be a passion, and becomes a principle of life. It is never destroyed until life ceases. It may change into a torture—it may become excited like a white-hot iron, burning the heart it binds ”