midnight
He knew she brooded silently on any grief that poisoned her comfort , -- that she fed on it , as it were , until it ran with every drop of blood in her veins , -- and that , except in some paroxysm of rage , of which he himself was not likely the second time to be the object , or in some deadly vengeance wrought secretly , against which he would keep a sharp lookout , so far as he was concerned , she had no outlet for her dangerous , smouldering passions . Beware of the woman who can not find free utterance for all her stormy inner life either in words or song ! So long as a woman can talk , there is nothing she can not bear . If she can not have a companion to listen to her woes , and has no musical utterance , vocal or instrumental , -- then , if she is of the real woman sort , and has a few heartfuls of wild blood in her , and you have done her a wrong , -- double-bolt the door which she may enter on noiseless slipper at midnight , -- look twice before you taste of any cup whose draught the shadow of her hand may have darkened ! But let her talk , and , above all , cry , or , if she is one of the coarser-grained tribe , give her the run of all the red-hot expletives in the language , and let her blister her lips with them until she is tired , she will sleep like a lamb after it , and you may take a cup of coffee from her without stirring it up to look for its sediment . So , if she can sing , or play on any musical instrument , all her wickedness will run off through her throat or the tips of her fingers . How many tragedies find their peaceful catastrophe in fierce roulades and strenuous bravuras !