She had none of the charms of fashion. He
had never seen her well dressed, according to the ideas of dress which he
found to be prevailing in the world. She was a little thing, who, as a
man's wife, could attract no attention by figure, form, or outward manner;
one who had quietly submitted herself to the position of a governess, and
who did not seem to think that in doing so she obtained less than her due.
But yet he knew her to be better than all the rest. For him, at any rate,
she was better than all the rest. Her little hand was cool and sweet to
him. Sometimes, when he was heated and hard at work, he would fancy how it
would be with him if she were by him, and would lay it on his brow. There
was a sparkle in her eye that had to him more of sympathy in it than could
be conveyed by all the other eyes in the world. There was an expression in
her mouth when she smiled which was more eloquent to him than any sound.
There was a reality and a truth about her which came home to him, and made
themselves known to him as firm rocks which could not be shaken. He had
never declared to himself that deceit or hypocrisy in a woman was
especially abominable.
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