“Hell is the talking type / I'd suffer Hell if you’d tell me what you’d do to me tonight,”

The stuffy room of dark wood, candelabras, and dusty paintings, the dinner course of bloody skulls, slimy oysters, and fish heads.

Peter was suffering for his love, on the off chance you'd want to leave this nightmare.

This garish portrayal of social convention. But there was no choice. You both had to sit pretty and act nice and earn your freedom.