" "Well said, Jack," cried Figg. She met his older brother and played another short violin recital, much to the delight of 178 John’s immediate family. Couldn’t fit it inside, but the horse’s blanket lay over it, and, like I said, as long as no one rides him and don’t remove the blanket, I think it’ll stay hid. She had a better voice than I, and the rest I suppose is only a trick. 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. Here was no crooked soul; a little weak perhaps, impulsive beyond common, but fundamentally honest. "You are an angel," she cried, with a look beaming with delight. ‘I don’t want to hurt you any more.
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