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 shifted the pages together, rolled and thrust them under her arm. They were all stout ill-favoured men, attired in the regular jail-livery of scratch wig and snuff-coloured suit; and had all a strong family likeness to each other. The face that looked down upon Ann Veronica was full of amiable intention. ’ ‘People are silly. ’ ‘You ain’t never,’ gasped Pottiswick. The prisoner was then thrust in by Quilt.
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