I can’t but feel it’s an undesirable complication to drag in the Charvills at this point. You have nothing more to fear from Wild. Death belongs to God, young man. They agreed to lend her their hold-all and a large, formless bag which they called the communal trunk. “She told you that?” “Yes. He stood still, almost breathless. It was open. 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.
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