"You’ll bring your threats here, will you?" said Gride, whom jealousy of Nicholas and a sense of his own triumph had converted into a perfect fiend. "You, the disappointed lover–oh dear! He! he! he!–but you shan’t have her, nor she you. She’s my wife, my doting little wife. Do you think she’ll miss you? Do you think she’ll weep? I shall like to see her weep–I shan’t mind it. She looks prettier in tears." ~ Nicholas Nickleby