The rich and elegant
dressing gown of cashmere and velvet had been converted into money
and a dowdy-looking stuff wrapper supplied its place.
Mrs. Arnold yawned and sighed wearily, then arose to look for some
curl papers but finding the effort too much once more sought the
lounge and novel.
The sorrows of the heroine pleased her. "Misery likes company," as
the adage goes and Mrs. Arnold formed no exception.
"Yes," mused she, "her lord, like mine, proved a failure, but here
the likeness ends--she got rid of him but there is no such luck for
me. I must put up with his brutal insults, his coarse language, his
murderous assaults--yes, I must bear it for better for worse until
death doth us part--"
"Which I hope will be very soon, my dear, delightful spouse," cried
a hic-coughy voice from an outer room and instantly the bloated face
of Montague Arnold confronted his wife in tantalizing and brutal
aspect.
We will pass over the scene which followed, suffice to say that the
inebriated husband finally betook himself to his room and--more
beast than man--lay until he was sufficiently recovered to set out
for the scene of dissipation to be enacted on the coming night.
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