It was just before I came here that the sad story of my marriage began. It is impossible to think of my wife with an unpolluted view, for so it is when you are deceived. Yet when I married her, she had bright skin, and seemed healthy, and altogether had an appearance of malleability, which I thought would serve me well. But that placidity was little more than a veneer; and all the impressions I had hoped to make upon her seemed to fade beyond the moment I suggested them. She did not respond to my delicate shaping, only remained her own obstinate self. Now, she is cunning enough to be docile to my face, to pretend that she obeys me. She thinks she keeps me content with her pretence of supplication. But I know she has a rebellious heart. She thinks herself cleverer than I. Now and then, proof of it slips from her tongue, but when I reprimand her she only says that I twist her words, and cries. With her constant weeping, and her feigned melancholy, she would make me out to be monstrous. Yet I would be a good husband if she were a good wife; I want only the chance to prove my goodness.
What do You think about The Silversmith's Wife _ Sophia Tobin (2014)?
