The spy—if there was one hiding out in the late Jarvis Remenham’s empty house—would be taken unawares. 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. Mind you don't stir till supper's over.
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