. ’ He strode to the fireplace behind the leather-topped desk and addressed his own reflection in the mirror, wagging an admonitory finger in his own face. “My darling!” he said, clasping her resolutely in his arms, “my dearest!” “Mr. John caught her in the hall around third period. He had no wish to go foraging in Spurlock's trunk. Ruth sighed; Spurlock stood up and drew his hand across his forehead as if awakening from a dream. 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.
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