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walls. It was the τετέλεσται of her union with Troy.
"If she's—that,—what—am I?" she added, as a continuation of the same cry, and sobbing fearfully and the rarity with her of such abandonment only made the condition more terrible.
"You are nothing to me—nothing," said Troy, heartlessly. "A ceremony before a priest doesn't make a marriage. I am not morally yours."
A vehement impulse to flee from him, to run from this place, hide, and escape humiliation at any price, not stopping short of death itself, mastered Bathsheba now. She waited not an instant, but turned to the door and ran out.
