" "I know you'll contradict it, Sir," said the widow, looking at Wood as if she dreaded to have her fears confirmed,—"I know you will. ” She stopped short, full of things un-said. Wood required little pressing. I'll keep it for your sake. " "I am one-and-twenty," observed Jack. “No,” she answered. How old are you?” She asked. “I want my life to be beaten gold just in order to make it a fitting setting for yours. The London backgrounds, in Bloomsbury and Marylebone, against which these people went to and fro, took on, by reason of their gray facades, their implacably respectable windows and window-blinds, their reiterated unmeaning iron railings, a stronger and stronger suggestion of the flavor of her father at his most obdurate phase, and of all that she felt herself fighting against.
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