I Hate the Man

Hester prynne gazed after him a little while, look with a half fantastic curiosity to see whether the tender grass of early spring would not be blighted beneath him. She thought of those long past days ina stant land, when he used to emerge at eventide from the seclusion of his study and sit down in the firelight of their home. Such scenes had once appeared, not otherwise than happy. But now, as viewed through the dismal medium of her subsequent life, they clasped themselves among her ugliest remembrances. Yes, i hate him, repeated hester, more bitterly than before. He betrayed me. He has done me worse wrong than i