"Heaven have mercy on his soul!" ejaculated Wood. “Please, Michelle, let’s not fight. 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. She would rend him limb from limb like a fiend if only she could move. "Is she married?" he asked, after a brief pause. When he came to a certain sentence in Brendon’s letter he stopped short and looked up at her. He sat with folded arms and knitted brows, thinking intently. It was just such a bedroom as she would have chosen for herself. ‘I can answer that. And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry. I’ve never wanted to get away so much.
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