She followed Oxford Street into Holborn, and then she inquired for Chancery Lane. "A hell of a muddle! But all the talk in the world can't undo it. . “Accident! She shot me,” he muttered. And, though it's a long time ago, I feel as sore on the subject as ever. Doesn’t matter a bit to me. Perhaps once it had desired some other human being intolerably. 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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