. ” “We’ve come past it, miss,” the man answered, with a note of finality in his gruff voice. 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. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. No, don’t let me call myself that. I know life. Light flooded the uncarpeted chamber, revealing the decayed state of the place.
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