But that other world, in spite of her resolute exclusion of it, was always looking round corners and peeping through chinks and crannies, and rustling and raiding into the order in which she chose to live, shining out of pictures at her, echoing in lyrics and music; it invaded her dreams, it wrote up broken and enigmatical sentences upon the passage walls of her mind. “Dear husband,” she murmured. In the mean time, let me advise you as a friend not to irritate him by a refusal, which would be as useless as vexatious. And if sometimes I grow heady—and it's in the blood— remind me of this day when you took me out of hell—a thief.
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