" "You hear that," whispered Jack. 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. Gay, by his strokes of pleasantry, whether in his writings or conversation, never lost a friend. "See the devil!—not I," cried Wood impatiently. Her softly intertwined fingers became rigid. Perhaps in the beginning the women made fools of themselves over him.
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