“Why did you ever let me love you? Why did you ever let me peep through the gates of Paradise? Oh! my God! I don’t begin to feel and realize this yet. ‘So yours is the rattling tongue, is it, young madam?’ ‘I should say so. And there was no intimation whatever that the blinds would ever go up or the windows or doors be opened, or the chandeliers, that seemed to promise such a blaze of fire, unveiled and furnished and lit. The important secret remained locked in my breast, but I resolved to be avenged. And here, we may be permitted to offer an observation upon the peculiar and unaccountable influence which ladies of a shrewish turn so frequently exercise over—we can scarcely, in this case, say—their lords and masters; an influence which seems not merely to extend to the will of the husband, but even to his inclinations. “I rue the day I ever met you, Sebastianus. A door in this house opened upon the yard. Shall I sew it on for you?" "If you wish.
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