But she had never pictured herself obsessed by hate of a like quality.
And yet, now, as her eyes followed Adrienne's slender figure, with its curious little air of hauteur that always set her so apart from other women, moving hither and thither on the stage, her hands clenched themselves fiercely, and her grey eyes dilated with the intensity of her hatred.

Almost--almost she could understand how men and women killed each other in the grip of a jealous love.

.

.

.
The play was ended.