My mother, I'm sure, didn't intend to hurt your feelings. “Ann Veronica,” he said. The chamber, into which he stole, like all carpenters' workshops, was crowded with the implements and materials of that ancient and honourable art. 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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