It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. “Why not? Isn’t the whole thing a lie? Isn’t her reputation, this husband of hers, the ‘Alcide’ business, isn’t it all a cursed juggle? She hasn’t the right to do it. She tried surreptitiously to reach her own dagger, in its cunning hiding place in her petticoat. I am bound to admit that I greatly enjoy my altered life. There'll be a fall of above twelve foot o' water, and think o' that on a night as 'ud blow a whole fleet to the devil.
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