The same night he met Meddoes and Drummond together, the latter over from Paris on a week’s leave from the Embassy. Wood," observed Jackson, in a slightly-sarcastic tone. “Good,” he said, as he watched the colour come back to her cheeks. Never again would he repeat that kiss; but at night when they separated, he would touch her forehead with his lips, and sometimes he would hold her hand in his and pat it. He seemed inexorable, and inscrutable as fate itself. 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. Why on earth couldn’t he leave her to grow in her own way? Her pride rose at the bare thought of return. It's as strong, if not stronger, than this. Good-looking girl. “Why?” He inquired. They were in different key, they had a different timbre. “Oh I most definitely think so. . The woollen-draper looked at his watch.
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