"I guessed he was something of the kind. So this is the man who holds you in the hollow of his hand? I see."
She might see, but I didn't. There was about her vision a clearness and coolness which made me shudder. It was dreadful to hear her talk in that cold-blooded way about anybody "holding me in the hollow of his hand." She continued to regard me in a manner which I had noticed about her once or twice of late, and which, although I said nothing about it, I resented.
"Perhaps now I may be allowed to talk to you as if you were a reasonable man. During the last few days I have hardly known whether you wished me to regard you as a child."
"My dear!"
"You have been lying there, pretending to be ill, doing nothing, and worse than nothing, while your fate and my fate has been hanging by a hair. I had not thought that my husband could be so contemptible a thing."
"Really, Lucy, I wish you wouldn't speak to me like that."
"Possibly. I have discovered, too late, how you dislike to hear unpleasant things."
"I don't know that I am peculiar in that respect."
"I don't doubt that there are other backboneless creatures in existence besides yourself--unfortunately for their children and their wives."
"Lucy, I won't have you talk to me like that--I won't."