To her horror she realized that she had nearly forgotten how to kiss after a years-long dry spell, and she could detect drool on her own chin and John’s cheek. It had been brighter than the rest, for dawn light had come in through high unshuttered casements above the bookshelves. ‘Courage,’ urged her spouse. When first brought under consideration, she was a miserable and forlorn object; squalid in attire, haggard in looks, and emaciated in frame. For awhile he watched the revolving light on Copeley's. . She spoke slowly. 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. “There was an accident with a pistol in Miss Pellissier’s room,” he said.
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