"Don't you ever get bored?"
Josephine March never knows quite how to answer this question when it surfaces.
It does rather often, too; one of those society ninnies (Jo has never quite managed to conquer her slangy tongue) will come up to visit and, looking around with a kindly smiling contempt, ask it, almost as if they don't see how she could avoid it.
They glance at Fritz, pegging away at teaching Latin, at the boys, running about or at their books or wolfing down their food, at Jo herself, usually in something of a flurry, and they somehow seem to think that she's bored.
So, Jo does the best she can.
She thinks back to the night before: to Fritz coming behind her, gathering her long, wild hair in one hand and murmuring some greeting into her neck, to her slight shiver as he ran his fingertips along her shoulderblades…
"But the same thing, day after day," the socialite says, turning up her pretty little nose in a sort of pitying disdain, "Jo, dear, that must be dull."
Catching her husband's face and kissing him enthusiastically…
The hurried "Gott in Heaven" as his hands made short work of her buttons…
"I mean, what do you do recreationally?"
His wide, incredulous eyes, her own flaming face…his mumbled "while thou was teaching today, heart's dearest, I had such want of thee…"
"I suppose," the person says, with another condescending smile, "you gave up all your dreams of romance?"
Her husband was again pulling her close to him….mumbling half-German endearments into her skin...
Very often, it is all Jo can do not to laugh. But, being a "trump," as she says, she simply gives the person her brightest smile.
"Oh," she says quietly, "I just keep busy, and the time flies off."