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. What you would look upon as immorality is here merely an established custom, three thousand years older than Christianity, accepted with no more ado than that which would accompany you should you become a clerk in a shop. She addresses you as the Flower of the Lotus, as the Resplendent Moonbeam. "Egad!" exclaimed Wood, "you've hit the right nail on the head, anyhow.
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