Wood's favourite sitting-room, and her image was so intimately associated with it, neither the carpenter nor his daughter could muster courage to enter it before. ‘Then he went stark staring crazy, if you ask me. Beauty has bloomed and faded. “Fine. White,” she remarked. That did not sound like the name the young man had offered in the tower of the water-clock. You need only answer me truthfully and you have nothing to fear. " On a shelf was placed a row of paint-jars; the contents of which had been daubed in rainbow streaks upon the adjacent closet and window sill. 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 found a clean sweatshirt and soft pajama pants, glad to trade the wet for the dry.
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