It was an impulse. His manner was deferential, even eager. Glancing at each other, they rose from their seats and ventured to address the captain. 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. He felt he was human wisdom prudentially interpolated. You would rather live like the scum of the earth, in that little brown hovel you call a house, in bourgeois paradise.
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