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. ’ ‘Not dead, miss. He was always word-building, a metaphorist, lavish with singing adjectives; but often he built in confusion because it was difficult to describe something beautiful in a new yet simple way. The agonized mother could scarcely repress a scream at the spectacle that met her gaze. ’ The girl nodded understandingly. He was way out of her league and it was downright odd that he had obliged himself to talk to her, let alone walk her home. ’ His colour deepened. “Why should it matter?” he said. ’ ‘What sort of “down on your luck”?’ asked Alderley.
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