Afterward, one afternoon, he hovered about her, and came and sat beside her and talked of beauty and the riddle of beauty for some time. The Wastrel, his eyes full of humorous evil, stood inside the room. ‘That’s not much comfort. My will is executed, and placed in safe custody. “Shopman. ” Annabel no longer attempted to conceal her emotion. 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. “You call yourself an artist— but you have no temperament. The room was dark and dusty.
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