“You and Anna,” she said, “seem to have stumbled upon a mare’s nest. But underneath this tolerance there is always the vague hope that your manhood will someday reassert itself. 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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