You’re of age— you’re of age. ” She brought her knees up to her chest, and rocked back and forth like a small child. "What poet was that?" "Stevenson. But before the child could be committed to her care, it was wrested from the carpenter by Rowland. "And the will?" he said, with forced calmness. All houses of means had not only a maid but usually a whole staff of servants. She turned into the study, sat down at the table and fingered the pencils, curiously stirred. 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.
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