Still unconscious of anything he did physically. The woman I wanted was another man's wife. Somebody to depend upon her; somebody to have need of her, if only for a little while. Lucy could feel blood welling underneath a bump half swelling and already half-healing on her scalp. 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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