“You call yourself an artist— but you have no temperament. We fetched the doctor and the police. "Do you submit?" interrogated Wild. That is what marriage is to most young women: the ultimate escape from the family, from the unwritten laws that govern children. But that's an infirmity shared by a great many sounder heads than mine. ‘You are dead, you,’ he yelled back, leaping into the seat of the final pew. Wood, now more buxom and more gorgeously arrayed than ever,—as well as a young and beautiful female, in whom he was at no loss to recognise the carpenter's daughter. But you’ve got to lend me forty pounds. ’ ‘Good. Many’s the young ’un I’ve seen get hisself into just such a knuckleheaded mess all on account of a pretty wench. I suppose you came right out and asked him about his family?’ ‘Nothing of the sort.
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