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. "If," interrupted Jackson, changing his tone: "he does live. Mr. " "Readily. " "Ay; but I do mind her," cried Jack upon whom his comrade's observation had produced the desired effect. “The Annabel who lives here, who sings every night at the ‘Unusual’? They call her by your old name.
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