"Eh-day! what's this?" cried Wood, looking up from beneath his spectacles. Your poor cheeks are quite sunken and hollow. 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. When first brought under consideration, she was a miserable and forlorn object; squalid in attire, haggard in looks, and emaciated in frame. And even she was forced to admit to herself that this last resource of hers was a slender reed on which to lean.
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