Catherine Crowe, Once a Week (1860)
“ I wanted leisure to brood over my suspicions, for morbid suspicion, like morbid jealousy, “grows by what it feeds on!” the germ, once planted, it fell on such congenial soil, that it spread and spread till it had quite o’ermastered me. Poor Clara must have found it a dull journey; however, it came to an end, and we arrived at Elfdale. She was struck with the beauty of the grounds—a gloomy beauty it is true; but even I, whether, because my taste was developed by time and travel, or whether because it was now my own, could not but acknowledge it. ”
