She turned her head to each side. The entrance of Shoe Lane, and the whole line of the wall of St. Yes, I can readily believe it. "I don't know. ” “You’re leaving, aren’t you?” He accused. She had thought that all Morningside Park householders came home before seven at the latest, as her father usually did. 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. "Where is he?" he cried.
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