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. “Nothing,” said Ann Veronica, and stared over her shoulder out of the window. And look, again, at the women one finds letting lodgings. She had time in the afternoons to do crewelwork and embroidery, no longer occupied by the constant spinning of wool. “I am going to fetch some things that will be wanted if he pulls through the next hour. “You will go and see her,” he begged. Besides, by the time they were off his hands, old McClintock would be dropping in to have his liver renovated.
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