She loped forward on unnaturally long legs and arms that swung loosely. Visiting? Dressed for it, certainly. “Let me get you some water, Annabel. This morning he heard voices—McClintock's and the Wastrel's. 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. ” Ann Veronica started from her reverie, sat up in her chair, became attentive. The cold air gave her gooseflesh under her red brocade dress as she slipped outside.
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