Yet in some hidden corner was a vein of sentiment, of which for the first time in his later life he was now unexpectedly aware. This one was Henry Esmond, that one the melancholy Marius, and so forth and so on; never any villains. “Perhaps,” she said, “it is the London climate. I have strength enough to drag myself there, and I do not want to return. Wood's anxiety grew so insupportable, that he seized his hat with the intention of sallying forth in search of them, though he did not know whither to bend his steps, when his departure was arrested by a gentle knock at the door. He had heard everything.
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