Wood's bed-chamber—it was locked, with the key left in it. His clothes were smartly pressed, his linen white, his jaws cleanly shaven; but the day would come when he would grow indifferent to bodily cleanliness. Unwillingly he drew a little nearer, and became one of the group of loiterers about the entrance. Talk to her of the new story; divert her; for this day her heart has been twisted sorely. 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. “What’s going on with you?” John asked inquisitively, looking down at her abdomen. One of those hanging moments ensued— hypnotic. Oh, it was very bad.
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