“You know what? You’re right. 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. She vanished from the laboratory for a week, a week of oddly interesting days. He wore a battered sunhelmet, a loin-cloth and a pair of dilapidated canvas shoes. All the initial confidence in herself was gone; her courage was merely a shell to hide the lack.
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