She was shaking violently when she entered the side door of the house. You need not be afraid. Supposing you fetch what you can, and if you will allow me, I will see you off. “You know what? You’re right. ” She rested the firing end of the cannon against her own temple. Yet her embarrassment was only a passing thing. It was one of those old sliding trap affairs, narrow and steep of descent. She chose to hold her nose. Wood had the advantage of her husband in point of years, being on the sunny side of forty,—a period pronounced by competent judges to be the most fascinating, and, at the same time, most critical epoch of woman's existence,—whereas, he was on the shady side of fifty,—a term of life not generally conceived to have any special recommendation in female eyes. “And you brought her a man, I presume.
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