” “There is so much I have not told you, John. She hoped fervently that Martin had not divulged his crush to Brown. I am sure he would go with you. Indeed, she did not want to think of him as loving her. Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one. 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. She understood. “I will have your true reason. “What are you two whispering about?” She turned towards Martin. “We settled long ago—we’re hard stuff.
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