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Updated: August 4, 2024
I'll try to read myself to sleep." So this was Marriage! Did she flee to her unjustly acused husband's side and comfort him? Not she. She went to bed. At daylight, being about smotherd, I opened the closet door and drew a breath of fresh air. Also I looked at her, and she was asleep, with her hair in patent wavers. Ye gods! The wife of Reginald Beecher thus to distort her looks at night!
I am not cold, although frequently acused of it, Beneath my fridgid Exterior beats a warm heart. I intend to be honest in this dairy, and so I admit it. But, except for passing Fansies one being, alas, for a married man I remain without the Divine Passion. What must it be to thrill at the aproach of the loved Form?
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