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 tried not to think—of Ruth with her mother's locket, of her misguided father, taking his lonely way to sea. " "Zounds!" exclaimed Wood; "it's my old master-key. ” “Of how beautiful my children would be?” He finished her sentence.
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