’ A derisive snort greeted this passage. We do not remember to have met with a single individual, reported to be under petticoat government, who was not content with his lot,—nay, who so far from repining, did not exult in his servitude; and we see no way of accounting for this apparently inexplicable conduct—for which, among other phenomena of married life, various reasons have been assigned, though none entirely satisfactory to us—except upon the ground that these domineering dames possess some charm sufficiently strong to counteract the irritating effect of their tempers; some secret and attractive quality of which the world at large is in ignorance, and with which their husbands alone can be supposed to be acquainted. “Please go and see that—nothing happens,” she pleaded. She had lost her nerve, and there was no more freedom in London for her that night. She had found it in 1988, the year of the stock market crash. Kneebone, on his return from Manchester.
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