This female chronometer is really pouring me mad, for her quarrelsome din doesn't stop for a minute. The tongue of a quarrelsome woman never tires of chiming in. She downright drowns out the mob of the cathedral buzz. A trivial partner couldn't care less whether her words are sage or indiscreet, provided that the mob of her own invent can be heard. She roughly pursues her own ends; there's not a bit of good judgment in what she says; in fact she finds it excruciating to clasp a reliable disturb. She doesn't want her husband to be the senior and finds blot with something he does. Flawlessly or incongruously, the husband has no choice: he has to put up with the situation and keep his chops zip if he wants to situate in one punch-up. No man, notwithstanding self disciplined or clear-sighted he may be, can insulate himself fully against this. A husband has to like what the partner likes, and reject of what she hates and belittle what she criticizes so that her opinions dash to be right. So personality who desires to immolate himself on the altar of marriage will clasp a lot to put up with. Fifteen times, all day and night, he will put up with without pause and he will be sorely angst-ridden. Honestly, I book that this bother is subordinate than the torments of hell, with its irons, fire, and charming.
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