Indeed, she did not want to think of him as loving her. Give me the chisel, Blueskin. Sir Rowland witnessed these proceedings like one stupified. 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.
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