"Do you call neglecting your work, and singing flash songs nothing? Zounds! you incorrigible rascal, many a master would have taken you before a magistrate, and prayed for your solitary confinement in Bridewell for the least of these offences. If only there had not been this single torturing thought—a mere pin-prick, but still curiously persistent. Quite soon, after we were married—it was just within a year—I formed a friendship with the wife of a friend, a woman eight years older than myself. He swore that I was his wife, and—I shot him, Nigel, as his arms were closing around me. She had become unashamed of her nudity, altogether unfocused on her appearance. I, too, want to understand—to walk with my head in the light. Wood then took to his heels, and never once looked behind him till he reached his own dwelling in Wych Street. . 9. I felt suddenly I understood you—as an intelligent person. You complain of a condition, but you leave the correction to someone else.
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