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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. Her eyes still had the fevered glow of sickness, yet she seemed in perfect health. Narrow little beady brown eyes, and she’s got big eyebrows like dead caterpillars. She would have to leave very soon. She ran her gaze over him, and allowed her eyelashes to flutter down. She was herself conscious of a recklessness of spirits almost hysterical.
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