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. " The doctor did not reply to this rather ambiguous statement, but pushed back his chair and signed to McClintock to follow. He never appears to so little advantage as when speaking of him. The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. He sat alone in his brother’s old car night after night that summer, staring blankly at the red sky beyond the abandoned farmhouse where she had once shown him her secrets.
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