Now, she was the very reverse of all this. They stank, and she hated how they blocked the sunlight. Fresh ground, no chicory, and all the rest of it. I swore I would bring your husband to the gallows,—would plunge you in such want, such distress, that you should have no alternative but the last frightful resource of misery,—and I also swore, that if you had a son he should share the same fate as his father. She would be surrendering to all her impulses—particularly the good impulses—many of which society had condemned long since because they entailed too much trouble. It’s not a bit of good pretending there’s any Higher Truth or wonderful principle in this business.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTUuNC40NSAtIDMwLTA2LTIwMjQgMDE6MzY6MDUgLSAyMDU1MjY4MTc2
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