You must forgive the poet’s license I take. 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. But oh, how weary I am! I know. Kneebone in a conciliatory tone. “Hey,” he said, his eyes slowly adjusting to the soft blackness. She backed away from him. I was to blame to carry the matter so far. ’ She smiled on the last words, adding, ‘Oh, I don’t blame you for trying. In the South Seas, money is the eliminated middleman. I deserve pretty much what I’ve got.
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