"What do you say?

"GOOD-NIGHT, LOVE?

"Yes: you can be very tender, I dare say--like all of your sex--to
suit your own ends; but I can't go to sleep with my head full of the
house. The fender in the parlour will never come to itself again. I
haven't counted the knives yet, but I've made up my mind that half of
'em are lost. No: I don't always think the worst; no, and I don't
make myself unhappy before the time; but of course that's my thanks
for caring about your property. If there aren't spiders in the
curtains as big as nutmegs, I'm a wicked creature. Not a broom has
the whole place seen since I've been away. But as soon as I get up,
won't I rummage the house out, that's all! I hadn't the heart to
look at my pickles; but for all I left the door locked, I'm sure the
jars have been moved. Yes; you can swear at pickles when you're in
bed; but nobody makes more noise about 'em when you want 'em.

"I only hope they've been to the wine-cellar: then you may know what
my feelings are. That poor cat, too--What?

"YOU HATE CATS?

"Yes, poor thing! because she's my favourite--that's it. If that cat
could only speak--What?

"IT ISN'T NECESSARY?

"I don't know what you mean, Mr. Caudle: but if that cat could only