” She looked up at him, and found he was watching her closely. So, in broken, rather breathless phrases, he told his story; and when he had done, he laid his arms upon the table and bent his head to them. Thames unfolded the drawing, smoothed out its creases, and beheld a portrait of himself. With his foodle doo! This carpenter he had a wife, The plague and torment of his life, Who, though she did her husband scold, Loved well a woollen-draper bold. I’ve had the rarest luck and fallen on my feet. Full as she was of him, it felt good to shower her kill out of her hair.
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