Again he played for her; and again the eruption of the strange senses that lay hidden in her soul. The way it had happened was stupid, absurd. There was a recurrence of fever, but nothing alarming. 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. “He tried it. . She turned the gas up in her little sitting-room, and sank wearily into an easy chair.
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