"Why should I hold my tongue?" she retorted. "I am speaking the truth.
I would purchase forgiveness at the price of your blood. Ah! How I
weep, and how I suffer! It is my own fault if a scoundrel, such as you,
murdered my husband. I must go, one of these nights, and kiss the ground
where he rests. That will be my final rapture."
Laurent, beside himself, rendered furious by the atrocious pictures that
Therese spread out before his eyes, rushed upon her, and threw her down,
menacing her with his uplifted fist.
"That's it," she cried, "strike me, kill me! Camille never once raised
his hand to me, but you are a monster."
And Laurent, spurred on by what she said, shook her with rage, beat her,
bruised her body with his clenched fists. In two instances he almost
strangled her. Therese yielded to his blows. She experienced keen
delight in being struck, delivering herself up, thrusting her body
forward, provoking her husband in every way, so that he might half kill
her again. This was another remedy for her suffering. She slept better
at night when she had been thoroughly beaten in the evening. Madame
Raquin enjoyed exquisite pleasure, when Laurent dragged her niece along
the floor in this way, belabouring her with thumps and kicks.
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