Caudle, if I'd only have thought what it was. Yes, that's right:
throw it in my teeth that it was my choice--that's manly, isn't it?
When I saw the place the sun was out, and it looked beautiful--now,
it's quite another thing. No, Mr. Caudle; I don't expect you to
command the sun,--and if you talk about Joshua in that infidel way,
I'll leave the bed. No, sir; I don't expect the sun to be in your
power; but that's nothing to do with it. I talk about one thing, and
you always start another. But that's your art.

"I'm sure a woman might as well be buried alive as live here. In
fact, I am buried alive; I feel it. I stood at the window three
hours this blessed day, and saw nothing but the postman. No: it
isn't a pity that I hadn't something better to do; I had plenty: but
that's my business, Mr. Caudle. I suppose I'm to be mistress of my
own house? If not, I'd better leave it.

"And the very first night we were here, you know it, the black-
beetles came into the kitchen. If the place didn't seem spread all
over with a black cloth, I'm a story-teller. What are you coughing
at, Mr. Caudle? I see nothing to cough at. But that's just your way
of sneering. Millions of black-beetles! And as the clock strikes
eight, out they march. What?

"THEY'RE VERY PUNCTUAL?

"I know that. I only wish other people were half as punctual:
'twould save other people's money and other people's peace of mind.
You know I hate a black-beetle! No: I don't hate so many things.
But I do hate black-beetles, as I hate ill-treatment, Mr. Caudle.
And now I have enough of both, goodness knows!