That was odd: when young people were joyous, they had to express it physically. 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 climbed on top of her, pressing her into the couch cushions, the gown billowing around them like a cotton candy parachute. "No, no, Sir," replied Ireton. "I haven't worn anything else in weeks. But if you wish to do old Wood a friendly turn, you may bring his wife. .
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