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. And they had an idea of what men were like behind all their nicety. I ought to be able to think things out. He “went in” for microscopy in the unphilosophical Victorian manner as his “hobby. I don’t defend it.
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