‘Lord, no! I’ve a better regard for my skin, I thank you. He turned, expecting to see his wife. 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. ’ For a moment or two there was dead silence in the parlour.
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