Discarded, like a passing fancy or a momentary toy, the woman, who, a short time before had basked in the favor of her lord and master, stands with jealous rage, hesitating between her burning love for the man and enmity for the woman who has taken her place. High strung and impetuous she cannot bring herself to the level of a cringe to beg for what she believes is rightly hers. It is plain to be seen by the expression of her face and the convulsive twitching of her body that she is aflame with hatred and defiance. These are supplemented by the passion of her soul in the destruction of the armlet, which she tears from her arms as if to obliterate every reminder of the man she once loved. These mementoes seem to be everywhere recalling her to the majestic heights of vindictive rage; then bringing her down to the depths of despair and uncontrollable sorrow. He beckons to her to bring him wine, she proceeds to obey, when the last straw is placed upon her sensitive nature; she beholds the hand of the unworthy object of her affection, drawn by the hand of his new found love within the draperies. "The Wine!" It is the wine of death. Trying to shut out the thoughts of it all, she covers her eyes as she passes the glasses with their contents within the portieres. The deed is done! She glances at the lifeless hand, which had but a moment ago received the potion. Her bejeweled dagger in her hand, and the prayers to Buddha on her lips, she retires from the room, staggers back again, holding her hand over her dagger-pierced breast, plunging forward she grasps the silent hand of the man in her own, and dies with the calm smile of resignation and happiness.- Written by Moving Picture World synopsis
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