" "What a strange history is mine!" said Thames. ” She repeated, as if she answered an objector: “A sort of blacklegging. “YOU wouldn’t like to be independent?” he asked, abruptly. 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. Then she and her husband went off to a Yorkshire practice, and had four more babies, none of whom photographed well, and so she passed beyond the sphere of Ann Veronica’s sympathies altogether. We’d soon cool that temper of yours. "She wouldn't let me go. I’ve called half a dozen times at her flat, and she won’t see me. I didn’t know.
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