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. " "My dear," observed Wood, "you should be more charitable—" "Charitable!" repeated his wife, "that's your constant cry. It was something that Sebastian had refused to do, a lifestyle that he placed himself above. She had adored the stupid thing, and kept it in her pocket for about ten years. Mirages, over which he was constantly throwing bridges which were wasted efforts, since invariably they spanned solid ground. I felt somehow I’d hurt you.
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