She would then hear his feet pounding up the steps and he would burst into whatever room she was sitting in and say, “There she is! My wife! Hiding her beauty from the world!” He would then run to her, grab her book or embroidery and unceremoniously toss them to the floor. Deuce take it! I was very near spelling my name with one P. She had already killed more than she wanted to count, yet she had counted them still. I think too much about myself.
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