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“My dear man,” she exclaimed, “wasn’t that a foregone conclusion?” “You treat the matter lightly,” he continued. Perhaps that other boy who visited you backstage at the concert. Nothing but the publicity of the place and the recollection of that terrible constituency kept him from attempting some perfectly respectful but unmistakable evidence of his sympathy. “I’ve been looking out for you,” he said. I do not want to get only a second-hand flavour of life. " Ruth slightly brushed the withered cheek. Spurlock's movements and report progress. The sing-song girl rose and meekly pattered out of the office into the night. The walls rocked, the footrail of the bed wavered, and the girl's head had the nebulosity of a composite photograph. Winifred Wood was now in her twentieth year. Mother had met with him two years before to begin the process of finding a match. 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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