You will think me cruel, very selfish, but love is always selfish; the more ardent the more selfish. How jealous I am you cannot know. You must come with me, loving me, to death; or else hate me, and still come with me, and hating me through death and after. There is no such word as indifference in my apathetic nature.
Nevertheless, life and death are mysterious states, and we know little of the resources of either.
There is a faculty in man that will acknowledge the unseen. He may scout and scare religion from him; but if he does, superstition perches near.
In my time first cousins did not meet like strangers. But we are learning modesty from the Americans, and old English ways are too gross for us.