her　crimes；　and　wrenched　myself　from　connection　with　her　mental　defects。　Still；　society　associated　my　name　and　person　with　hers；　I　yet　saw　her　and　heard　her　daily：　something　of　her　breath　（faugh！）　mixed　with　the　air　I　breathed；　and　besides；　I　remembered　I　had　once　been　her　husband—that　recollection　was　then；　and　is　now；　inexpressibly　odious　to　me；　moreover；　I　knew　that　while　she　lived　I　could　never　be　the　husband　of　another　and　better　wife；　and；　though　five　years　my　senior　（her　family　and　her　father　had　lied　to　me　even　in　the　particular　of　her　age）；　she　was　likely　to　live　as　long　as　I；　being　as　robust　in　frame　as　she　was　infirm　in　mind。　Thus；　at　the　age　of　twenty…six；　I　was　hopeless。

“One　night　I　had　been　awakened　by　her　yells—（since　the　medical　men　had　pronounced　her　mad；　she　had；　of　course；　been　shut　up）—it　was　a　fiery　West　Indian　night；　one　of　the　description　that　frequently　precede　the　hurricanes　of　those　climates。　Being　unable　to　sleep　in　bed；　I　got　up　and　opened　the　window。　The　air　was　like　sulphur…　steams—I　could　find　no　refreshment　anye　buzzing　in　and　hummed　sullenly　round　the　room；　the　sea；　which　I　could　hear　from　thence；　rumbled　dull　like　an　earthquake—black　clouds　were　casting　up　over　it；　the　moon　was　setting　in　the　waves；　broad　and　red；　like　a　hot　cannon…ball—she　threw　her　last　bloody　glance　over　a　world　quivering　with　the　ferment　of　tempest。　I　was　physically　influenced　by　the　atmosphere　and　scene；　and　my　ears　were　filled　with　the　curses　the　maniac　still　shrieked　out；　wherein　she　momentarily　mingled　my　name　with　such　a　tone　of　demon…hate；　with　such　language！—no　professed　harlot　ever　had　a　fouler　vocabulary　than　she：　though　two　rooms　off；　I　heard　every　word—the　thin　partitions　of　the　West　India　house　opposing　but　slight　obstruction　to　her　wolfish　crie