Everything in the range of Trina's vision, from the tarpaulins on the market-cart horses to the panes of glass in the roof of the public baths, looked glazed and varnished.

The asphalt of the sidewalks shone like the surface of a patent leather boot; every hollow in the street held its little puddle, that winked like an eye each time a drop of rain struck into it.
Trina still continued to work for Uncle Oelbermann.

In the mornings she busied herself about the kitchen, the bedroom, and the sitting-room; but in the afternoon, for two or three hours after lunch, she was occupied with the Noah's ark animals.

She took her work to the bay window, spreading out a great square of canvas underneath her chair, to catch the chips and shavings, which she used afterwards for lighting fires.
One after another she caught up the little blocks of straight-grained pine, the knife flashed between her fingers, the little figure grew rapidly under her touch, was finished and ready for painting in a wonderfully short time, and was tossed into the basket that stood at her elbow.
But very often during that rainy winter after her marriage Trina would pause in her work, her hands falling idly into her lap, her eyes--her narrow, pale blue eyes--growing wide and thoughtful as she gazed, unseeing, out into the rain-washed street.
She loved McTeague now with a blind, unreasoning love that admitted of no doubt or hesitancy.

Indeed, it seemed to her that it was only AFTER her marriage with the dentist that she had really begun to love him.
With the absolute final surrender of herself, the irrevocable, ultimate submission, had come an affection the like of which she had never dreamed in the old B Street days.