I killed him, Nigel. ‘For God’s sake, let go my hand,’ he begged. The procession now wound its way, without further interruption, along Holborn. 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. “To be my eternal love. Her English was halting. It resembled Mardi Gras, and she thought disdainfully of New Orleans.
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