But, alas! she was beautiful—and beauty is a crime not to be forgiven by a jealous woman. “My dear girl,” he said, in a tone of patient reasonableness, “you are a mere child. Little more’n a week. Sorvelli caught me! In Fourth Grade, I broke my arm because I tripped on a metal doorway. But a woman’s life is all chance. 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. In the next box hangs the rope by which he suffered. When she released him he ran down the beach for a stick which he fetched and laid at her feet.
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