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. He removed his cockaded hat, putting it down between them as he sat at the other end, placing himself at an angle and, crossing his legs, leaned back at his ease, his eyes fixed on her face. " "He made you wear shoes and stockings?" "Always. To recreate the era, I deliberately tried to avoid creating a thinly disguised bodice ripper where an “empowered” woman mouthed off to prospective suitors in jerkins and tights, in other words, a typical romance novel. In the upper hall he paused to listen. ‘Though we might have done, if a certain addlepated clothhead hadn’t let her get away. You would rather live like the scum of the earth, in that little brown hovel you call a house, in bourgeois paradise. I had a perfect shoal of callers. ” “You have not seen the evening paper?” “No. \"I'm going to his baseball game, he's pitching for Lincoln, and then I believe he is taking me to dinner. There must be ways of getting rid of him. I've tried the plan, and found it answer.
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