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Excerpt from The Life of Napoleon Bonaparte
The King of kings hung a dark cloud over his star of destiny, when the cruel blow fell on the exiled Wife, whose only crime was that heaven had written her to him childless. That cloud expanded till it darkened all the sky and bolt after bolt came down upon his lofty brow, and laid it low on a captive's pillow within the confines of a rocky island, Where, Prometheus-like, he was compelled to feel the wasting power of burning memories and awakened conscience, until death removed him to a more righteous adjudication.
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