“Have some more port wine, sir?” “It’s a very sound wine,” said Mr. “I wonder—I wonder if we shall ever get like that. After an hour of waiting, she slammed her bedroom door and he returned to his basement. 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. But that's an infirmity shared by a great many sounder heads than mine.
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