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“My young lady is looking sadly the worse for her change of condition,’ I remarked.  ‘Somebody’s love comes short in her case, obviously; whose, I may guess; but, perhaps, I shouldn’t say.’ ‘I should guess it was her own,’ said Heathcliff.  ‘She degenerates into a mere slut!  She is tired of trying to please me uncommonly early.  You’d hardly credit it, but the very morrow of our wedding she was weeping to go home.  However, she’ll suit this house so much the better for not being over nice, and I’ll take care she does not disgrace me by rambling abroad.”
― Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights