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. “The rarefied air? I thought you had a better head. ” She said, studying his face, which seemed to lose its childishness a little more with each day. She could feel her body rebel against her actions, convulsing, so she forced herself to think of her mother in Heaven, her mother's beautiful face, the sun dancing across the rivers of her home. "This your regular business?" "For the present. I should scarcely have known you. And the age gets higher. Why did he take me?’ Martha’s damp eyes were puzzled.
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