Her concluding paragraph was, on the whole, perhaps, hardly starchy enough. ‘Come, I am concerned merely for your safety, you know. ‘Jacques!’ He stopped, but he did not turn. She was emerging from the primordial as Spurlock was declining toward it. “No!” Her thoughts had turned in a new direction. 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. Say you will never forget! That these common things and secondary things sha’n’t overwhelm us. Like carpenter, like chips. With something near to horror they found themselves thus confronted.
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