In fact, she did not seem to have heard a single syllable she said, and this was evident from the wild but affecting abstractedness of her manner.
"Mother!" she exclaimed, "that man they say is a murderer, and yet I am not worthy to touch him.

Ah! I'm alone now--altogether alone, and he--he that loved me, too, was taken away from me by a cruel death--ay, a cruel death; for it was barbarous to kill him as if he was a wild beast--ay, and without one moment's notice, with all his sins upon his head.

He is gone--he is gone; and there lies the man that murdered him--there he lies, the sinner; curse upon his hand of blood that took him I loved from me! O, my heart's breakin' and my brain is boilin'! What will I do?
Where will I go?
Am I mad?
Father, my curse upon you for your deed of blood! I never thought I'd live to curse you; but you don't hear me, nor know what I suffer.

Shame! disgrace--ay, and I'd bear it all for his sake that you plunged, like a murderer, as you were, into eternity.

How does any of you know what it is to love as I did?
or what it is to lose the man you love by a death so cruel?
And this hair that he praised so much, who will praise it or admire it now, when he is gone?
Let it go, too, then.