“You are very stupid, Anna,” she said. We girls, my sister and I, were left quite alone when our father died, and I made up my mind to make some little place in the world for myself. His shirt was unfastened, his vest unbuttoned, his hose ungartered; his feet were stuck into a pair of pantoufles, his arms into a greasy flannel dressing-gown, his head into a thrum-cap, the cap into a tie-periwig, and the wig into a gold-edged hat. A pair of long-lashed blue eyes studied them both as she slowly brought her hands down to rest by her sides. They stood back together and stared at it. “The visit seems to have made a most painful impression upon him. He confided to me that he felt trapped in his marriage, that he was being ruined by fate. And when I have steeped him to the lips in vice and depravity; when I have led him to the commission of every crime; when there is neither retreat nor advance for him; when he has plundered his benefactor, and broken the heart of his mother—then—but not till then, I will consign him to the fate to which I consigned his father.
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