She no more realizes what she has done than a child of eight. “Quite alone, sir. One day I can be a Gothic chick, and the next day I’ll be Hitler Youth. You yourself, I am sure, recognize how impossible you have made it for me now to do anything of the sort. Much to her annoyance, therefore, Winifred was left alone with the woollendraper, who following up a maxim of his own, "that nothing was gained by too much bashfulness," determined to profit by the opportunity. 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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