Her foster father had been outside for most of the morning, working on trimming the maple trees and mowing the lawn. It was easy to imagine great power in such a man. 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. Wild," said Trenchard, "I shall proceed no further in this business. Gosse were you born, and Gosse will you remain to your death. This she would not endure. The tired woman looked quietly at her. She speedily reached her own abode,—a little cottage, standing in the outskirts of the village.
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