She might have ye -- she 's gittin ' on . '' '' ` Liza ... Adams ! '' `` That 's what I said . Ye need n't repeat it -- ` Liza ... Adams -- 's if I 'd mentioned a hippopotamus . I git out of patience with ye . I b ` lieve in my heart ye think ye ought to git a wife that 'd look like a picter . '' `` I do , Aunt Catherine . That 's just the kind of wife I want -- grace and beauty and charm . Nothing less than that will ever content me . '' * * * * * Roger laughed bitterly again and went out . It was sunset . There was no work to do that night except to milk the cows , and his little home boy could do that . He felt a glad freedom . He put his hand in his pocket to see if his beloved Wordsworth was there and then he took his way across the fields , under a sky of purple and amber , walking quickly despite his limp . He wanted to get to some solitary place where he could forget Aunt Catherine and her abominable suggestions and escape into the world of dreams where he habitually lived and where he found the loveliness he had not found nor could hope to find in his real world . Roger 's mother had died when he was three and his father when he was eight . His little , old , bedridden grandmother had lived until he was twelve . He had loved her passionately . She had not been pretty in his remembrance -- a tiny , shrunken , wrinkled thing -- but she had beautiful grey eyes that never grew old and a soft , gentle voice -- the only woman 's voice he had ever heard with pleasure . He was very critical as regards women 's voices and very sensitive to them .
Nothing hurt him quite so much XXXXX an unlovely voice -- not even unloveliness of face .
as if in like of on than to until with